


Thank You For Your Service

by panda_shi



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anbu Yamato | Tenzou, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Bad Matchmaking, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Flirting, Freeform, Friendship, Hokage Hatake Kakashi, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Canon, Post-Naruto Time Skip | Naruto Shippuden, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22158961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi/pseuds/panda_shi
Summary: Iruka notices Yamato in the middle of Tsunade's big birthday bash. Apparently, Yamato has just gotten back from a mission and now has long hair for the time being. Iruka isn't sure why he's never noticed Yamato before -- a little liquid courage to proposition the man leads to many awkward, if not amusing words.Honestly, Yamato is flattered.
Relationships: Hagane Kotetsu/Kamizuki Izumo, Hatake Kakashi & Yamato | Tenzou, Umino Iruka/Yamato | Tenzou
Comments: 23
Kudos: 168





	1. Oh wow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rikacain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikacain/gifts).



> I am my own beta. Might have missed shit.

Truth be told, Iruka had zero intentions to attend Tsunade’s birthday bash that evening. 

He’s heard talk about what the birthday almost a week ago. He’s not exactly sure how Tsunade - in all her collected and still growing debt - had managed to book The Rusty Anchor, Konoha’s biggest bar that doubles up as a party hall. Rumor has it that Tsunade owes one of the investors of the pubs. That Tsunade, apparently, had saved said investor’s spouse’s sibling’s life from a disease so rare years ago, before the war. Iruka knows better than to pay attention to exaggerated rumors but if Tsunade’s medical skills are involved, then there’s a slightly higher chance that the rumor might have some truth to it. 

What is really setting the rumor mill abuzz is the _catering_.

According to Kiryuu - Iruka’s mission room colleague - who heard from his cousin, who verified that the intel is in fact from a friend who is a Hunter, who had a relative working within the Hokage administrative building, who overheard from another colleague telling another colleague in that office that their ANBU lover who happens to be in Kakashi’s security detail confirms that the buffet is going to be nothing short of extravagant. That there is a confirmed list of six nigiri and aburi nigiri variety, ten maki choices, tataki, sashimi that does indeed, include premium fatty tuna, tempura, a teppanyaki station, a noodle station and three varieties of cake. That didn’t even include the appetizers which, apparently, include fifteen types of salads.

The best part about it all, apparently, is the bar. The bar is going to be overflowing.

According to Asahi-sensei - who Iruka ran into at the market five days ago, while stocking up on rice that had gone on sale that one, lovely afternoon - there are seven confirmed bartenders who will be showcasing their special cocktail mixes. The rumor is verified because Asahi confirms that he heard it from his last visit to his in-laws' house two weeks ago, who apparently had a son dating one of Tsunade’s previous security detail, who is in fact good friends with Shizune and that during one of their meetings for tea to catch up, Shizune had asked if they knew of any bartenders willing to serve during a party.

Iruka has a hard time keeping up with the rumor origins. 

And while it’s almost a general - albeit laughable - rule of thumb that shinobis partying is a different species all together, while Iruka knows most people would take advantage of an open invitation to a very good buffet and very good _free_ drinks (himself included of course; he’d at least go for the fatty tuna!), Iruka knows that such festivities are festering grounds for disaster.

The last time he attended a party of this magnitude years ago had been Gai’s birthday before the war; Iruka will never forget that party if only because it had taken him a week to recover from a very bad case of food poisoning. It had been so bad that Iruka’s ass had been on fire and not the good kind. He had dropped almost six kilograms in that week alone and vowed to never, ever attend a party of that magnitude again. 

_Ever._

Up until Izumo and Kotetsu had shown up in the mission room on the night of said party, dressed out of their uniforms in denims and a cotton t-shirt, grinning ear to ear, a paper bag in hand that Iruka assumes is Tsunade’s gift. 

“No,” Iruka says, crossing his arms across his chest, firmly planting his ass cheeks on his chair, his feet looping around the legs of his chair. It’s a stubborn show of resistance, accompanied by a press of his lips and a scowl that Iruka hopes would send the very obvious fuck-off message.

“Oh come on!” Kotetsu throws his arms up in the air.

“No! I am not going! The last time I was in one of these--” Iruka gets cut off by Izumo, who decides to place a denim clad butt cheek on his desk, right on top of a few freshly printed forms that Iruka had arranged just an hour ago. It makes Iruka’s eyebrow twitch with irritation. 

“Was Gai’s birthday, and yes, how can we forget your poor sickly state at that time,” Izumo says sympathetically. It would have worked except Kotetsu snorts, smothering his laugh behind a fist very poorly. “And your glorious diarrhea.”

“You refused to get fucked in the ass for months after that--” Kotetsu dissolves into a laughing fit that makes him double over and all the more easy for Iruka to clock him the head with his fist. 

It isn’t funny. Iruka finds none of it funny. Certainly not at the time. True, it had taken him several weeks to get over the horror that his body purged. True, he had preferred to be in the company of the ladies at the time, his ass remaining off limits until further notice. Still, Iruka felt that it had been a very justifiable choice given the trauma.

Years later, it’s still something his friends laugh at.

Not that Iruka blames them. He laughs at it too.

It’s just not funny _now_ when they’re trying to convince him to attend a party that may potentially result in the same outcome.

“I am still not going! Now get the hell out!” Iruka grouches, dropping himself back on the chair.

“You are forgetting one difference, Iruka,” Izumo reasons, shoving Kotetsu away and swatting a hand in his direction to be quiet and stop laughing already. “Gai’s birthday party had been a potluck affair. This is a catered affair!”

Iruka stares Izumo’s mouth like it had just admitted to some hideous punishable by death crime. “So?”

“So food will be more centralized. Ingredients comes from a single source. There are chefs involved. It’s more professional. There will be no bad shrimp, or bad sauce, or bad anything.” Izumo nods.

“Izumo, I admire your argument, your purpose in trying to convince me to attend this party just so that you can attempt to introduce me to the jounins and chuunins you two get chatty-buddy with during gate duty --”

“Oh move.” Kotetsu shoves Izumo off the table and plants his ass cheek on Iruka’s stack of paper. 

“Hey! I just -- I fixed those!” Iruka squawks, moving to shove Kotetsu off his desk and off his stack of forms.

Kotetsu simply slaps his hand away and leans over the desk, getting into Iruka’s face. “Remember that guy two weeks ago, tall, broad, grey eyes, long, black hair up in a bun? We saw him at Haru’s? You wouldn’t stop lusting over him? In fact, you disappeared for a few minutes with him. And when you came back, after three shots - really three shots was all it took for you to spill the details, you fucking loser - you admitted to giving him a blow job in the--”

“Shhhhh!” Iruka reaches up to clamp a hand over Kotetsu’s mouth. Kotestsu doesn’t slap Iruka’s wrist away. Instead, he grabs it and with all the energy of a rabid dog, sinks his teeth on the side of Iruka’s hand. The noise that leaves Iruka’s mouth then is pained, as loud as a squawk of a strangled wild bird, his hand snapping away from Kotetsu as he stares at the vivid teeth marks on the side of his palms in outrage. “ _Are you a fucking child?”_

Iruka’s protest is drowned out by Izumo’s hysterical laugh.

“His name is Tanaka Hyousuke. Confirmed single. Special jounin. Into ass like yours and he’s going to be there. You can thank me now.” Kotetsu stands, tucking his hands into his pocket and has the audacity to look smug. 

“Why the hell would I thank you?” Iruka retorts rather tartly, rubbing the side of his palm on his pants to ease the sharp, lingering pain of Kotetsu’s bite.

“Because, my dearest friend, you can maybe, finally score it with him.” Kotetsu bows, as if concluding his award worthy performance.

“You have got to be out of your mind if you think for one second that you’re anywhere near accurate with your claims and assumptions! I have absolutely no desire to take Tanaka Hyousuke home! Don’t hit your ass on the door when you leave, thank you,” Iruka huffs, grabbing his stack of crumpled forms and making an attempt to rearrange them and smooth out the wrinkled corners. 

“That’s not what you said two weeks ago~” Kotestsu sing-songs. “What was he saying, Izumo? I can’t seem to quite remember.”

“He sure know how to fuck a mouth~” Izumo mimics Iruka’s drunken, breathy, lust ridden spiel. “Oh you guys, he had the meatiest ding-dong~ I wouldn’t mind riding that beast~”

“I did not!” Iruka stands, torn between protesting the exaggerated misinformation dribbling out of Izumo’s mouth and laughing at the stupidity of it. Iruka knows himself. He may have given praise if the blowjob had been particularly good, especially if he had gotten off with his mouth full of thick, hard flesh. It’s extremely rare that he gets off just for sucking cock these days, riding on nothing more than the tight friction in his pants. Iruka knows for a fact that he had not gotten off blowing Hyousuke. He had enjoyed it, sure. Hyousuke is, without a doubt, an attractive man. But that had been it. “No, I didn’t say it like that -- what the fuck!”

“I wish he would just turn me around and shove that monster into my--” Izumo gets cut off with a laugh when Iruka shoves him backwards to stop with the sexual description of Iruka’s very private moments (it’s not like anyone knows what Iruka had done in the alley, anyway).

“Will you be quiet? This is -- for fuck’s sake, this isn’t the place--” Iruka cuts himself off as he watches Kotetsu upend the contents of the paperbag on the table he had set down on the floor earlier. Out tumbles a pair of black denims and a cotton maroon v-neck t-shirt. “What is this?”

“Your clothes. Go change.” Kotetsu waves a hand. “Hurry up.”

Iruka stares at the determined looks on Izumo and Kotetsu’s face -- the thin press of their lips, the I-will-physically-drag-you-there-kicking-and-screaming determination that pulls the line of their lean bodies taut, the stubbornness reflecting like wild flames in the depths of their irises. Iruka knows a lost cause when he sees it. He can continue to resist and know for a fact that while Izumo may throw in the towel and maybe decide to leave him alone, Kotetsu will take it personally and just of spite, will spend the next few hours driving Iruka _insane_ until he agrees and eventually joins the fucking party.

Agreeing now will spare Iruka the headache of having to succumb himself to Kotetsu’s good intentions. Iruka’s friends are well aware of Iruka’s life’s choices, that he remains single and unattached not because he can’t find anyone but because he doesn’t want the commitment. Years of being in a relationship only to have your so-called lover sabotage you, betray the village and you does that to a person. It has become a personal mission of sorts for Kotetsu to introduce Iruka to all kinds of sexual flora and fauna, to ensure that Iruka has a steady stream of one-and-done fuck buddy. Iruka hasn’t taken anyone home in two weeks, but that’s only because he’s made a decision that he wants to install a tub in his bathroom; he’s been putting in longer shifts at the mission desk and going on missions as much as he can before the Academy starts again.

Iruka knows Kotetsu means well. They both do.

Sometimes though, he wishes he could just stab them with a kunai in each eye socket. 

Iruka sighs, his shoulder slumping in defeat. Izumo and Kotetsu are already cheering before he can even voice is agreement. 

“You are not going to regret this!” Kotetsu sounds _gleeful_. It’s almost eerie.

“Think of all the luxuries neither of us can afford! Fatty tuna! Actual, _good_ sake! Good beer, even!” Izumo grins. “Besides, if it starts to get really shitty, you can always leave!”

Iruka stares at the pair of pants and t-shirt on the table, sighs deplorably once more and rolls his eyes as he gets up on his feet. He promptly ignores the devilish grins on his friends' faces as he grabs the clothes off the table and leaves them to start clearing his desk while he changes.

How bad could it be?

*

Apparently, really bad.

By the time they arrive, the party is at full swing.

The Rusty Anchor is located in the far end of Konoha with a large empty plot of land behind it that can double as extra space. Several large fans have been set up and are running to combat the evening heat, semi-cool air blowing out to stave off the humidity. The empty land that is usually just cemented ground surrounded by trees is alight with a stream of light bulbs crisscrossing above the heads of the guests. Loud speakers are erected on every corner, pumping out booming music, accompanied by the stamping of dancing feet, as palpable excitement buzzes through the charged air. In the corner, tables are set up as people gamble, and right in the middle of it all is Tsunade, clapping manicured hands and already well on her way to being abhorrently drunk. 

Inside the bar, the crowd is even more jubilant, a lot wilder, all of them rubbing shoulders and uncaring that their toes gets trodden on or that they are in close proximity to strangers than they usually are to friends or even family. The warmth in the bar is stifling, with men and women in white catering uniforms moving in and out of the kitchen, carrying trays and platters of food, refilling the very, very long buffet station with all the efficiency of a mechanized factory assembly. Iruka catches sight of the fire blazing at the teppanyaki station, as the chef stirs something, the sound of it drowned out by the karaoke contest happening right next to it. The opposite end of the bar is lined with tables, all of them occupied as people socialized -- a cacophony of hollering, clapping, whooping, shaking hands, patting one another on the back, all of it a steady flow of spontaneous emotion. Some are even already on their way to being drunk, as they stumble upon each other. 

Iruka side steps away from his friends as someone makes a run for the door, looking a little green around the gills. Iruka hears the person heave right before the heavy wooden door slams shut. 

Iruka resolutely decides that he is _not_ becoming _that_ in this party. That level of partying is behind him. He’s moved on from reaching that level of wasted. Nope. Not tonight.

“I’ll get food. You get teppanyaki. Iruka, get us drinks. Meet us at the bar,” Izumo instructs.

Divide and conquer it is.

While it seems like everyone is having a good time, a closer look at things tells Iruka otherwise. 

He almost slips on a piece of fallen shrimp, his shoes already sticky with all manners of substance. He barely manages to dodge someone carrying a plateful of food that would have ended up all over his front in a multicolored and very impressive stain. The journey between the door and the bar is almost impossible -- Iruka actually ducks his head when someone ends up slipping on something, as up goes a few pieces of nigiri, its landing punctuated by a few crows of displeased shock. 

A quick pat on his head tells Iruka that no stray seaweed or rice grain has ended up on him -- which, well, thank the heavens for that. 

Honestly, Iruka should have known better than to come. He should have held his ground rather than be subjected to this kind of non-sense, fatty tuna, expensive sake and delicious prime catering be damned. If he wanted any of them, he can always manage his budget and indulge on a treat or something. It’s not like it’s _impossible_ despite his modest lifestyle. 

It just requires a little bit of smart maneuvering, that’s all. And possibly two weeks of nothing but sliced bread or cup ramen. He’d probably have to take advantage of whatever free coffee in the mission room pantry. 

iruka manages to skid to a halt, taking a dodging step backwards when someone sloshes a pint of beer clumsily, a foamy mess ending up on the already disgusting floor. 

This is stupid.

This is just incredibly, fucking stupid.

Iruka debates walking right back out -- fuck the buffet, fuck the drinks, fuck this noise.

Until he spots one Tanaka Hyousuke, holding a plastic cup of beer, grinning at something by the karaoke fight happening and — well, okay, he can stay for a few minutes, because Hyousuke really isn’t bad to look at, isn’t he? Hyousuke is in a tank top, hair up in the messy bun Iruka remembers him for, the grin on his face morphing to rambunctious laughter. The roaring kind. The kind that would almost border on obnoxious.

The sight of it, how Iruka can hear just the edge of that laughter -- Hyousuke had to be ridiculously loud for the sound to carry this far and cut through the bar’s noise -- makes Iruka’s nose wrinkle in distaste, as his feet continues to move through the mess on the floor towards the bar. Iruka knows he shouldn’t judge Hyousuke for having a good time. That his laugh may be vociferous but then, who in the bar at the moment isn’t? What with the amount of flowing alcohol and all.

Iruka manages to make it halfway towards the bar when he gets shoved to the side by someone arguing drunkenly at someone else, his fall cushioned by a wall of warm flesh and a hand steadying him on a shoulder. 

An apology quickly forms at the tip of Iruka’s tongue, as he steadies himself on his feet and looks up to a slightly familiar face. 

A face that also recognized him, apparently.

“Ah, Iruka-san, is it?” 

It takes a moment for Iruka to recognize the man in the slightly dim and crowded bar. Without the happuri and Jounin vest, it would have been impossible to recognize Yamato. 

Yamato with very, _very_ long hair, even.

Strands of thick, lustrous, quite beautiful ash brown hair held back in a ponytail by the nape of his neck.

Yamato retracts his steadying, strong grip on Iruka’s shoulder, now standing there with a neutral and socially polite expression, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. It’s the same expression Iruka recognizes during the few times he had dropped by the mission room with Team Seven -- it's muted, not much to go by, as good as a mask covering his face. Gone is the standard issue uniform. Yamato stands there in dark pants, a light gray round neck full sleeved cotton t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his other hand holding what had to be the brightest orange coloured cocktail Iruka’s ever set eyes upon in a clear plastic cup. It looks severely out of place for someone of Yamato’s aura. Iruka didn’t peg him him for a foofy-cocktail kind of guy. Certainly not one this bright that will likely be bursting with overly sweetened flavours.

“Yamato-san?” Iruka can’t keep his surprise out of his tone. “I’m sorry — I didn’t recognize you with the - I mean, your hair and the happuri…”

Yamato ducks his head, teeth peeking out briefly from between his lips. Iruka sees a flash of his incisors, a glow of white in the partially dim lighting. It makes Iruka’s stomach swoop inwards with how attractive that brief smile is, sudden, like how one would trip into a large pothole in the road. Yamato brings up a hand to smooth over the elastic band holding his ponytail in place in what seems to be a sheepish gesture, the motion of it drawing Iruka’s attention to the length of his arm, which then trails to the broad set of Yamato’s shoulders, the flex of his bicep and tricep under the pull of gray cotton, the rippling pectorals under that rather flimsy fabric, now that Iruka notices how the fabric stretches over Yamato’s body.

Iruka doesn’t think he’s seen anything more attractive. How does reaching behind to pat a ponytail even look attractive? 

Who the hell was Tanaka Hyousuke again?

“Ah, I just got back from a mission.” Tenzou drops his hand, tucking it behind his back as he lifts both shoulders in a dismissive shrug. As if that reasoning explains everything.

Iruka can guess what the mission might have entailed. Probably under cover. Or something that at least required a change in physical appearance that is more real than a henge.

“Well, welcome back, Yamato-san. It’s good to see you safe and unharmed,” Iruka says while clearing his suddenly dry throat, _tearing_ his gaze away from how they rake over the length Yamato’s entire body. Honestly, the uniform flatters _no one._ “Doesn’t look bad on you. Long hair, that is.”

“Thank you,” Yamato says, amusement trickling into his tone. 

When Iruka looks up, the amusement glitters in Yamato’s dark eyes, inky blank peppered by the shine of a thousand fine diamonds. Iruka notices how Yamato’s long lashes casts a shadow over his cheekbones, how they curl, are thick, lining his very, incredibly attractive eyes with black — aaaaaaand Iruka is staring again. 

Good heavens, he’s devouring the sight of this incredibly attractive man, watching how the corner of his lip tugs up to a brief smirk. How the motion of it makes Yamato’s jaw flex, highlighting the sharp cut of it, how is compliments Yamato’s distinct cheekbones, how that minute display of amusement also draws attention to Yamato’s arched brows, which then only draws further attention to his eyes yet again -- Iruka swears he can also see flecks of silver in its dark depths. On top the diamonds.

The smirk tugs up a little higher, a little more obvious. 

Good grief, Iruka can't be more obvious than a hormonal teenager _fawning_ over his crush. 

This is ridiculous.

Iruka knows he’s got better finesse than this. That he is above this kind of behavior. He is twenty six not thirteen.

Really, how did Iruka not notice Yamato before? He’s usually better at picking out the good looking ones even when they’re in uniform. Or at least, he can spot his type rather easily. And Yamato, as he is now, standing there, with his quiet amusement, not quite making fun but just reacting to Iruka’s flustered expression that he tries to school into some semblance of acceptable decorum, is attractive.

Handsome.

Who makes a cotton gray t-shirt look good? It’s nonsensical.

Iruka can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that he never noticed Yamato before. Iruka had to have been blind.

(Or maybe he didn’t look because he is Naruto’s commanding officer.)

“How’s the drink? I just got here so, is it safe?” Iruka turns his body to face the bar, a hinting gesture that he is definitely walking away from this encounter on a polite ending-a-social-small-talk kind of way.

“I’m not sure; someone was handing out drinks a minute ago. Safer to accept what is being offered than not in this kind of crowd, hmm?” Yamato responds, tilting his head towards the drink. “It does smell rather sweet.”

“Ah…” Iruka responds intelligently. Gods, he could punch himself in the face for this.

Yamato then offers the drink.

“You sure?” Iruka asks, his gaze flicking towards the plastic glass. 

Yamato responds with a smile that looks a little more real as opposed to his polite and neutral expression. Iruka has to inhale very slowly, ignoring how his stomach swoops inwards again. Iruka accepts the glass, as the heat floods over his cheeks and the tips of his ears, their fingers brushing momentarily. A sip later confirms how noxiously sweet it is, even for Iruka’s standards (and that’s saying something considering how much of a sweet tooth he is). 

“No one would drink this,” Iruka responds with a bit of pinched of expression, but raises the glass in thanks all the same just as Tenzou huffs a sound of amusement that makes his teeth and those incisors flash again. Well. _Fuck_. “See your around, Yamato-san. Enjoy the party.”

“You too, Iruka-san,” Yamato answers, giving Iruka a small dip of his head, one last look over his shoulder before he heads to one corner of the bar here Kakashi, Gai, Kurenai and few others are waving him over.

Iruka stares at his ass as Yamato walks away, the tips of his long hair swaying as he pushes through the jostling crowd. 

It’s a nice ass.

Yamato is honestly a nice _everything_. 

Iruka doesn’t take his eyes off Yamato even after he reaches the bar, watching him converse with a sea of people and the busy bartenders pouring drinks and cocktails between them.

Iruka also forgets to order drinks. Watching Yamato eat yakitori and nigiri seems to be better option in terms of activity, anyway. Who needed drinks for that when Yamato is a tall, cool glass of water that can quench even the driest of thirsts?

*

The looks Izumo and Kotetsu gives Iruka makes shame flush all over Iruka’s face. There is judgment in the looks directed at him, what with how Iruka manages to drop his ass on a stool the moment it had been free, nursing the half empty glass of what Iruka deduces had to be orange syrup as opposed to a cocktail. 

Iruka had intentions to order drinks.

He really did.

After he gets another eyeful of the handsome captain now standing with a beer bottle in his lovely hand, over there, at the other end of the bar, listening to Gai narrate a story, all while the Rokudaime stares at his oldest friend with a deadpan expression and Kurenai laughs behind a hand.

Iruka had not been able to take his eyes of Yamato. He had watched him eat ten nigiri rolls, a plate of tempura, a bowl of salad and is now on his second bottle of chilled craft beer. It’s like bird watching, except this is the finest of its kind. This entire time, Iruka manages to learn that Tenzou chews on the left side of his jaw that he licks his teeth after each bite behind pursed lips and he refrains from talking while eating, in the sense that, he doesn’t contribute anything to the conversation. He becomes a listener until the plates are polished off. He also puts most of his weight on his right leg. Yamato doesn’t hold the beer bottle by the neck like some people at the bar, but instead holds it around the middle with his fingers spread out, steady, safe. His body goes with the motions of the crowd when he gets jostled. He doesn’t resist the elbows or weight of others. He flows with it, like water. At some point, Yamato had his back turned towards Iruka’s direction; Iruka is given the blessing to witness one of the gods’ finest creations -- Yamato isn’t as broad as Gai, but he’s just as broad the Rokudaime. And the length of the ash brown hair swaying between the ripple of his back muscles, the flex of his shoulder blades -- Iruka thinks he can do this all day. Watch Yamato move, that is.

Iruka isn’t not worried he’d be caught staring, not with how crowded the bar is.

“What the hell, Iruka?” Kotetsu gripes, as he sets down an overflowing plate of sashimi, maki, nigiri all while viciously scrubbing down a sauce stain on his t-shirt. Probably a result of braving the buffet station. “One drink? One?” 

“Sorry, I -- well, sorry,” Iruka mumbles, his apologies drowned out by the music that decides to explode from the speaker, throwing the entire bar into simultaneous cheer as people start gathering in the middle in a drunken dance that resembles more of a sway and wave of arms rather than anything else. 

Izumo takes a sip from Iruka’s orange cocktail, flinching and making a face the moment the liquid touches his tongue. “What the _hell_ are you drinking?”

“It was just given to me,” Iruka responds, waving the bartender over and ordering their usual - a bucket of beer, and a tall glass of soda.

They gather around Iruka’s stool, picking food off two large, overflowing plates. Iruka eats whatever that’s in front of him, altering between greasy but quite delicious tempura, maki rolls, nigiri and a mish mash of salad that starts to taste the same after the first few bites. Somewhere in between sips of beer, Iruka’s attention is once more drawn across the bar. Yamato is now seated on one of the stools alongside Kurenai, their attention still with Gai who seems to be trying to convince Kakashi to take part in a challenge. 

It seems to amuse the shit out of Yamato because he’s chuckling now. Shoulders shaking, head shaking, reaching his eyes kind of chuckles.

Izumo asks something that sounds like it requires a positive answer so Iruka just agrees to it.

It is the weight of his friends stares that makes him look away from Yamato and pause mid-chew at their gobsmacked expression.

“What?” Iruka asks, confuses. Wait, what did he just agree to?

“Okay, now I know you’re distracted because you just agreed to resigning from the Academy for good. Something I know you’re never going to do. Who are you watching?” Izumo asks, casting a look around the bar. “Do you see Hyousuke?”

“Nope,” Kotetsu pops the last syllable. “Nowhere.”

“Come on you, guys, this is really good food,” Iruka reasons, trying to save face rather than admit he’s been man-watching the fine creation on the other end of the bar. “Really good! Here try this.”

Iruka’s shoves a maki roll into Kotetsu’s mouth to shut him up before he can make some embarrassing conclusion, as the flush deepens all over Iruka’s face. Kotetsu makes a gagging noise, muffled by the sudden mouthful of food in his mouth, his face scowling in a not so appreciative expression. It’s a little funny. Iruka actually chortles a bit of a laugh at Kotetsu’s silly face.

“It's cute. It’s real cute how you still try to act like you’re prim and proper. You have the entire village fooled Iruka, but not us. Frankly, it’s insulting you’re still trying to pretend to be a goody two shoes when we _know_ you’re checking someone out openly. In public. Proper Academy sensei my fucking ass,” Izumo retorts, rolling his eyes.

Iruka has the decency to actually be embarrassed by the statement, the flush painting over his face once more. 

It’s not that Izumo doesn’t have a point.

It’s become a habit, being prim and proper, that is. When you have parents who expects the best of the best behavior to inspire their young children, who forgets that they’re more or less, sending their children to become killers, that a little promiscuity is one of the many coping mechanisms when one is a full fledged shinobi, that there`s no stopping said promiscuity -- but hey, who is Iruka to judge parents for their judgment calls on behalf of their children? However, Iruka safeguards the years he’s put into his job, his clean slate reputation as an Academy instructor, a reliable, dedicated if not respected teacher. He may enjoy sex, partying and drinking as much as the next person. But when you’re being scrutinized by parents, they forget that you’re just a man, too.

Hence the vigilance in trying to be prim and proper. One never knows who may be watching.

Or spreading rumors.

Or whatever.

Shinobi are notorious little beings when it comes to gossip. The higher the rank, the worse they are.

“I mean,” Kotetsu speaks through a mouthful of maki, washing it all down with a sip of beer. “We haven’t set you up with anyone bad--”

“Haven’t you?” Iruka pushes himself off the counter, turning to look with the most incredulous expression his face is capable of making. “Really? Have you forgotten?”

“-- in a while! Let me finish!” Kotetsu looks like he’s about to panic, scowling at Izumo who suddenly bursts out laughing. “You’re not helping!”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten Yuuna,” Iruka points, shuddering a bit as he remembers that disastrous date. Yuuna had been a sweet, passionate and extremely funny. Up until Iruka discovered her stalking tendencies. “I will not forget that!”

“She didn’t seem like the stalker type!” Kotetsu defends. 

“She really didn’t, you know?” 

“She would stand guard outside my classroom! She would question me about every person I spoke to. In the Academy. About lessons plans! Really?” Iruka huffs, shuddering when he remembers that incident “You weren’t there when I said it was just a one time thing. I genuinely thought I had to file a section R117-9.”

“Well, if she didn’t stop, that would have been the right call to make. Harassment in the workplace by fellow shinobi is very serious,” Izumo nods, pushing a new bottle of beer into Iruka’s hand.

“Now that we’re talking about your matchmaking skills and instincts, how can we not honorably mention Haruma?” Iruka points out, recalling the tall, broad, tanned and quite good looking Jounin that Iruka had the misfortune of sleeping with once only to discover the plethora of issues that had come with it. 

“Hey, I apologized for that! A hundred times over! I - I bought you dinner for a month!” Kotetsu defends. “You said you’d forget about it!”

“Kotetsu.” Iruka turns to look at him. “It’s hard to forget when a man tells you that you look like his younger brother and while you’re in the middle of fucking, asks you to call him nii-san. Now I don’t judge people’s preferences, but that is not my cup of tea. No. But thank you, again.”

“I mean, I deliver too! Look, you expressed interest in Hyousuke and I got you intel! Ask me and I will deliver! Or give me time to deliver!” 

“What he’s trying to say is,” Izumo slaps Kotetsu to shut him up for a second. “As your closest friends, we are invested in your personal wellness. We know you don’t want a commitment, we know -- let me finish.” Izumo glares, promptly shutting up whatever excuses Iruka had at the tip of his tongue. “We respect your career choices but Iruka, honestly, if you don’t express interest and just keep agreeing to whoever we set you up with, or introduce you to, you are going to end up in bad dates. We’re just the wingman here.”

This is not the first time Iruka has gotten this kind of talk.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes.

Six out of ten, the people Izumo and Kotetsu sets him up with end up delivering what Iruka wants -- a good roll in the sheets which by extension, means decent quality sleep. 

“I mean, at the rate you’re going, you’re going to run out of single and non-committed evening partners.” Izumo points out. “Then you will have to consider other options.”

“Yeah, like, being okay with folks in a polyamorous relationship. Oh hey, I hear Genma is fun. And didn’t you have a crush on Raidou back in the day?” Kotetsu asked.

“Still does,” Izumo mutters, making Iruka’s jaw drop and the back of his hand land sharply over Izumo’s arm, just as his face floods with red.

“Really?” Kotetsu’s jaw drops. “ _Really?”_

“What? He’s an attractive man! What’s wrong with finding him attractive? I have every right to admire from afar!” Iruka explains, scoffing when Izumo bursts out laughing. “Oh shut up, Izumo! You couldn’t even look at this idiot in the eye when you developed love for him!”

Izumo has the decency to flush at that remark -- the insufferable, mouthy jerk.

“He was your captain on several missions for years before he and Genma were even officially together, why didn’t you--”

Kotetsu gets cut off when a loud _roar_ erupts from the other end of the bar.

Iruka’s attention is momentarily drawn towards the eating contest taking place between Kakashi and Gai. There is a small crowd waving bills in the air gathered around them, a makeshift table piled high with two plates of dumplings set up. Iruka watches with a bit of admiration as Kakashi and Gai plow through that mountain, how Kakashi manages to make the dumplings disappear while his mask remains intact. That kind of speed, that skill, when he’s surrounded by a roomful of shinobi is admirable -- indeed, Rokudaime worthy.

But Iruka’s attention swivels almost immediately towards Yamato who is shaking his head as he takes a sip from the beer bottle. He’s still sitting on his stool, the middle of his back resting against the edge of the bar counter, one elbow propped behind him as he watches the contest play on before him. 

The room dulls to a hush, as things slow down for a moment as Iruka watches Yamato’s incisors flash for a brief moment when Gai’s loud, victorious cheer cuts through the crowd. Yamato’s jaw clenches with the motion of that amused smile, as he licks his lips once before bringing up the beer bottle to his lips for a slow slip. 

Iruka wants to sigh.

He really should just go over there and talk to Yamato. Proposition him. Get it out of his system once and for all. Iruka knows himself. He’s not going to stop thinking about Yamato unless he’s either been turned down or he’s had him at least once.

Iruka makes a decision.

He orders a shot glass of hard liquor and downs it in one go, washing away the taste of food in his mouth and waiting for his nerves to settle before he makes his way over there and gamble with his chances of -- well, he’ll settle for sucking Yamato of. That ought to keep things at bay. 

“You really want to help me?” Iruka turns to look at his friends, Izumo and Kotetsu suddenly perking up like moles poking out of a hole in the ground. 

“Absolutely!” Kotetsu nods. “Ask me! Go on!”

“What do you know about Yamato?” Iruka raises both eyebrows when his friends exchange a look, whatever excited expression they had falling from their faces, replaced by one of confusion, peppered with a bit of a stumped surprise.

“Yamato as in Mokuton Yamato?” Kotetsu confirms.

“Team Seven captain, Yamato?” Izumo clarifies.

“That one, yes,” Iruka agrees, crossing his arms and waiting patiently. He laughs when his friends exchanges looks again, clearly lacking any sort of information. “What? You said you wanted to help. So help me!”

“Well…” Izumo rubs the back of his head, turning to look at Kotetsu. “We don’t see him often. We haven’t, actually. Not since he’s been assigned to Team Seven, anyway. Right?” 

“Yeah, he -- wow, Iruka, you picked a hard one. Can’t you just ask about the Rokudaime instead? Or Shizune? Or what happened to Hyousuke?”

“Yamato or nothing.” Iruka shrugs, uninterested in frankly, anyone else except that man and his stupid, grey shirt. 

“Is he even here?” Izumo asks, scanning the crowded room.

“Both of your ten-o-clock, gray shirt, long hair, ponytail,” Iruka says, casual, simple, all in one excited breath.

“That.” Kotetsu blinks. “That’s who you’ve been staring at? The entire night? Really? You’re into -- no, okay, yeah, he’s your type. I don’t know the guy except that he seems dependable. Aoba speaks highly of him. During the war, he was their team captain, too, so, he looks after his teammates? Sorry, Iruka, I can’t help you. I genuinely have nothing else other than that.”

“No rumors?” Iruka tilts his head, confused. That’s odd.

“None that we know of, no.” Izumo shrugs. 

Iruka hums, turning his attention towards Yamato once more whose hands are now empty. He makes no motion to ask for another beer. He is engaged in a conversation with Kurenai, who excuses herself with a wave to disappear in the crowd only to have her place taken over by Kakashi.

“Well do you think he’s into cock?” Iruka asks, earning him a chorus of snorts.

“Iruka, if he wasn’t, you can probably convince to try,” Izumo pats him on the shoulder. “Probably.”

“Your faith in me is touching, I adore you,” Iruka reaches over and presses both his palms on Izumo’s cheeks, grinning ear to ear. “But no, it’s probably a bad idea. I mean, I am not going to try to convince a man as fine as _that_ to try cock when he’s got the Rokudaime right next to him. No fucking way. I’m not _that_ brave.”

“You’re right,” Kotetsu agrees. “You are absolutely right. That just won’t do. So, how about we forget about Yamato-taichou for now and see what they have on the menu to drink?”

Iruka likes that plan.

He really does.

“Oh, let’s try that smoking blue one; people seem to keep ordering that,” Iruka suggests, as he waves the bartender over and promptly forgets about Yamato for the time being.

*

“Repeat after me, Iruka!” Izumo shouts over the noise, a stupid grin on his face. “I will not let the Rokudaime cockblock me!”

“I will not let the Rokudaime cockblock me!” Iruka repeats, bursting into laughter as he brings the back of his hand to his mouth and almost keels over. 

He’s lost count on how many cocktails he’s had. Fruity ones. Lovely ones. As sweet as candy. Absolutely delicious! These bartenders are really talented!

They had decided after their meal to work their way through the bartenders’ special. Iruka is sure he’s had only two shots, and that he’s also sure that he’s had about five tall cocktail glasses of all colors. He knows he isn’t drunk. But the heat had stopped being an issue, the noise ceased to be an annoyance, the crowd jostling around their small space is no longer a bother -- Iruka therefore, concludes, that he has reached a level of relaxation that he didn’t think would be achievable given the setting.

So much so that he’s actually glad he decides to give in to his whims and attend this stupid party. It had not been a bad idea after all!

He may not remember what the hell they had been talking about earlier -- something about the will of fire and all its application in their daily life. Which is what lead to Izumo giving him a pep talk that he should chase his dreams, that if he truly, one hundred percent, wants to try to bed Team Seven’s captain, then he should do so or live a dull life full of regrets.

Life is too short, after all.

They’ve just survived a devastating war.

Iruka thinks his friends are very wise people.

“It is my purpose to bed that hunk of a man!” Izumo says.

“It is my purpose to --” Iruka dissolves into a giggle fit. “-- suck off that hunk of a man!”

“Good man!” Kotetsu pats Iruka on the shoulder. “What is the most important thing when gambling, Iruka?”

“Tenacity! Purpose! The will of fire! The importance to fight for your desire!” Iruka responds, knowing the answer by heart. It even rhymes. It’s perfect!

“You are ready! Go get your man! Fight!” Kotetsu holds up both arms, flexing his chest and arms.

“Fight!” Izumo parrots.

Iruka nods, sliding off the barstool onto his feet, his knees a little unsteady as he stands straight and sucks a deep breath, straightening his shirt and tucking the loose strands of his hair behind his ears. He gives himself a bit of a sniff, making sure he doesn’t smell like a garbage dump, runs his tongue over his teeth to make sure he doesn’t have any pieces of food stuck between it and asks for two glasses of whiskey on the rocks -- one glass with two fingers, the other with four.

Of course, the bigger one is his.

“Okay?” Iruka asks, chest puffing out, chin held high, a glass of whiskey in each hand.

Izumo and Kotetsu holds up all of their thumbs, punctuated by a flushed, happy grin.

Iruka shakes his shoulders a bit in an attempt to relax even more before he resolutely makes his way towards, conveniently, the now empty seat next to Yamato. 

Iruka is going to have that dick so far down his throat if it’s the last thing he does.   
  
Gamble with the will of fire or die trying. Fight for your desires! Your heart! Confidence is key! 

Iruka smiles at himself.

He can do this! How hard can it be?

TBC


	2. Oh hello

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am my own beta. Might have missed shit.

Tenzou knows that he shouldn’t be surprised when Iruka makes his way over to him a good hour later. He’s been keenly aware of how the Academy instructor had his eyes on him from the moment they bumped into each other. From across the bar, the weight of Iruka’s stare had brushed over Tenzou’s body like the soft, gentle caress of a warm brush, something salient in its depths that honestly, is quite flattering if not a little surprising.

It’s not like Tenzou has never run into Iruka before.

He has.

Many times. With Naruto, with Team Seven, at the mission room, sometimes in the street.

Iruka’s attention has never quite settled on Tenzou the way it has on that very evening. 

Tenzou was going to call it a night, dismissing Iruka’s stares for being just that -- admiration from a distance, nothing more. He had stopped drinking almost half an hour ago, opting to watch Iruka and his friends laugh across the way as they sample different colored cocktails, one after the other. They look like they’re having a good time, with no sign of Iruka showing any further interest, his attention finally away and focused on something else, drowning glass after glass of those noxiously and alarmingly strong cocktails.

Until now.

“Hello,” Iruka says, dimples dotting his flushed cheeks, holding two glasses of what looks like whiskey in his hands as he oh so casually, if not a little forcefully shoves the person away from taking the seat beside Yamato with his back and ass. The gesture is so unlike Iruka’s usual polite and caring for the welfare of others persona that Tenzou cannot help but quirk an eyebrow. Iruka plops himself on that chair, completely unperturbed by the scowl the person behind him is throwing in his direction as he offers Tenzou the glass with the lesser amount of whiskey. He secures himself on the stool by hooking his feet around it’s base, one elbow leaning on the counter. Comfortable. At home. Like he didn’t just shove a person away with his fairly attractive butt. “For you. I figured, this drink would look better in your hands than that orange monstrosity.”

“Thank you,” Yamato responds, polite, his tone peppered with a little bit of amusement that he cannot, for the life of him, reel in at this point. There’s no point in maintaining face. Everyone is well on their way in being wasted, anyway. “I appreciate it.”

“Cheers?” Iruka offers, raising his fuller glass.

“Cheers,” Tenzou replies, touching his glass to Iruka’s before bringing it to his lips for a sip. 

It’s good whiskey. Much like how everything else at the bar is good beer, good alcohol, good everything. Whoever is backing the expenses for the party really isn’t cutting corners. Tenzou takes his time sipping his drink, unlike Iruka who takes a generous gulp, almost a comical mouthful that he swallows with his nose wrinkling before he sets his not quite empty glass on the bar. 

“Yamato-san,” Iruka starts, with purpose. Like he’s about to do a presentation on the history of chakra discovery to a room full of people. “I must confess that my intention for coming over here is not quite pure.”

And here it comes.

“I’m not sure I understand, Iruka-san,” Tenzou says casually, politely, even as he finds himself pressing his lips to a tighter line to stop the bemused grin that is hell bent in pulling his lips up into a grin. What is it with Iruka and his effect on people? 

“I suppose I should break down my intention in to a three part -- no, I’m sorry -- two-part explanation.” Iruka looks confused, his face pinching as stares off at the corner, deep in thought, like he’s arranging the order of words before they come tumbling past his mouth. All of it gets punctuated by his nose wrinkling in what looks like distaste. It makes his left dimple peek out briefly before Iruka decides he knows what to say and directs Tenzou with a smile.

It’s a very nice smile.

Cute, even. Charming.

In the dim light of the bar, amidst the ruckus going on around them, Iruka wouldn’t quite stand out unless one decides to pay attention. He’s dressed down, gone is the forehead protector, his v-neck t-shirt a flattering shade of deep red that accentuates the tone of his skin. It is a nice, subtle backdrop to his thick brown hair hair held up in a ponytail. It reminds Tenzou of color rich, roasted coffee. The good kind. His hair doesn’t all stay up, not when the forehead protector is absent. Loose strands of his bangs frame his face, softening the angle of his clean shaven jaw, some of it tucked behind his ear, some of it slipping and sticking to the damp heat gathering around Iruka’s flushed neck. And in the middle of it are Iruka’s eyes, deep, dark, brown with gold reflecting in its depths, laugh lines softening the corners of it, making Iruka look a whole lot younger than his age. Being out of the uniform already makes him young looking; this close, Tenzou can see the softness that accentuates that fact. 

Iruka is an attractive man if one takes a moment to look. Slender but with strength tucked under his skin deceptively. Most people would dismiss someone of Iruka’s lean built as weak but Tenzou knows where to look. It’s there in the flex of muscle under the soft, slightly lighter skin under Iruka’s wrist, how his fingers may be more used to holding little hands but there, under his right palm, is a thick keloid scar, a sign of shinobi’s work, a badge of survival. Iruka looks a lot less bulkier out of the uniform. Tenzou knows better than to judge someone’s built for their strength level. Big doesn’t always mean strong, after all. And Iruka, from what Tenzou remembers, is as strong as they come.

If Iruka wasn’t strong, he would never have survived that fatal injury to his back when he, all those years ago, protected Naruto and the forbidden scroll from a traitor. Tenzou knows about it because that had been a topic of gossip for months within ANBU when it had happened. And if remembers right, Iruka was one of the few people Sandaime trusted when it came to Naruto and the proceedings at the Academy.

Iruka is the reason Naruto is the man he is today, after all. Naruto'S - Konoha’s biggest hero - most precious person.

Tenzou didn’t think their first in-depth - or well, one that goes beyond hello, how are yous or thank you for your hard work, that is - conversation would take place in the middle of the Godaime’s birthday bash.

Certainly not at a bar with Iruka smiling at him too openly with a flush on his cheeks and quite possibly close to being drunk.

Behind him, the weight of Kakashi’s sudden attention makes the hairs on the back of Yamato’s neck stand. He is keenly aware of the masked face suddenly floating somewhere over his left shoulder, rapt attention turned to the conversation happening with Iruka.

“I’m quite open to an explanation,” Tenzou offers, pushing some encouragement into his tone. 

“So am I,” Kakashi murmurs, just enough for Tenzou to hear. 

Tenzou ignores him, watching as Iruka sits up a little straighter and with the most heartfelt, honest and grateful tone, says, “Thank you for your service, Yamato-san.”

Okay. 

That is not what Tenzou had been expecting. 

But okay.

“Ahh, well, I don’t do more than what others do. Serving and protecting Konoha is an honor,” Tenzou says, unable to quite stop the huff of amusement from coming out towards the end of his response.

“Oh, no, no -- well, yes, that too. Of course, thank you for all your hard work. But that was not what I was referring to.” Iruka shakes a hand, as if dismissing Tenzou’s interpretation all together. 

“Oh?” Tenzou tilts his head a little bit, shifting in his seat because really, Kakashi is being a little too nosy. He might as well rest his chin on Tenzou’s shoulder at this point.

Iruka hums as he nods. “What I meant is -- thank you for your service. This service.” Iruka gestures with his hand from the top of Tenzou’s head all the way down to his legs, stressing on the ‘this’ in his sentence. “All this. That. _All_ of that.” Iruka’s open palm is circling in the air, gesticulating towards Tenzou’s face, chest and abdomen.

It’s such a suggestive gesture, bawdy in its delivery that makes a little heat crawl up the length of Tenzou’s neck. He normally wouldn’t get embarrassed by something like this but with the way Iruka is eyeing him, how he chews on his lower lip for the briefest second, the weight of gaze undressing Tenzou right there, it’s outright vulgar.

Not that Iruka isn’t an attractive while doing it.

Far from it.

Tenzou is just caught off guard by the audacity of Iruka’s praise, with how this usually polite, decent, if not mouthy Academy instructor is looking at him like he’s a piece of meat on display that he's about to feast on.

“This,” Tenzou parrots, pointing a finger at himself.

Iruka hums, his eyes focusing around Tenzou’s neck as he chews his lower lip without probably realizing he’s doing it just before he lifts his gaze up and meets Tenzou’s confused, but flattered, expression. “Yes. That. Thank you for being so attractive, a balm for sore eyes, in this, quite frankly, disaster of a party. I only came for the free good food. Now you, well, you are dessert rolled into one. So yes, thank you for your service~”

It takes _all_ of Tenzou’s training to not burst out laughing at that praise. Or pick up line. He’s not even sure where this conversation is going.

But he’s polite enough to not burst out laughing at Iruka’s smiling face. He’s not a jerk like Kakashi, who is finally off his shoulder and laughing into his drink at the bar.

“Oh this is good,” Kakashi says, not even pretending to hide how he’s eaves dropping anymore. “Thank you for your service, kouhai~”

“Shut up, senpai,” Tenzou hisses, as he ducks his head and forces his expression to remain neutral when all it seems to want to stretch out to an even wider grin. “Iruka-san, I am flattered.”

“Oh I’m not done,” Iruka corrects. 

“You’re not?” At this point, Tenzou gives up trying not to grin.

“Nope~” Iruka smiles toothily, canting his head a bit to the side, making his hair sway behind his head. Iruka picks up his drink and takes a careful sip from it. “I do require some clarification before I present the final half of my intention. Do you like men, Yamato-san?”

Wow. 

Okay, then.

Tenzou isn’t sure what’s worse. 

The cough that suddenly wedges itself in his throat when he inhales wrong cannot be hidden, nor the fact that Kakashi pretty much claps him on the back in what is a very obvious _yes_ to that question. After all, Kakashi would know just how into men Tenzou is; they’ve been fucking on and off since ANBU. A mutual agreement, if you will.

“That’s very forward of you, Iruka-san,” Tenzou answers, the flush on his cheeks darkening, the heat of it radiating over the tips of his ears. What the hell -- no one told him Iruka had a mouth like this.

If he had known, he would be more prepared to tackle this conversation as opposed to being consumed by embarrassment at being caught off guard. 

People really should come with warning labels. Iruka's warning label should read as: decent, sweet, but dangerous when they're onto you. 

Iruka doesn’t take the offered way out; instead, he laughs. “Oh gods, you’re one of those people.” Iruka brings a hand up to his mouth, a poor attempt to smother the amused grin tugging at his face. Tenzou isn't sure what Iruka is referring to when he says _one of those people_ but it makes Tenzou want to protest, all the same. Until Iruka asks, “Well. Are you? Into cock, that is.”

The confidence in how the question is delivered, the silent demand behind the question is admirable. Iruka is certainly not shy, doesn’t avert his gaze or play at polite, social etiquette. No. This Iruka has one purpose and maybe, if he had been sober, Tenzou would have been more than willing to entertain the idea of actually fucking him. But Tenzou watched Iruka from across the bar down one drink after the other. And while Iruka sits there, his hands moving to grasp the edge of the stool between his legs, his head canted to the one side as he patiently waits for Tenzou to answer, looking perfectly sober, clear eyed and not at all inebriated, Tenzou knows better.

He is, however, curious on how Iruka intends to pick him up, what the second half of his intention is, so to speak.

Tenzou could do the right thing and end this conversation by taking Iruka home and making sure he passes out on a safe, flat surface. A good press to a pressure point ought to do that.

Tenzou’s curiosity proves to be the victor.

“What if I say I’m not?” Tenzou asks, shrugging. He really wants to know. 

Iruka hums and releases his grip on the bar stool. He leans forward, not quite touching any part of Tenzou, as he presses his hand on the small bit the bar stool between Tenzou’s legs, gripping under it. Iruka’s skin doesn’t brush against any part of Tenzou’s body. But the heat radiating off him, that sudden whiff of something citrusy and spicy does. Iruka’s scent floods Tenzou’s senses, filling his lungs with it as the warmth radiating out of Iruka’s body curls around Tenzou like cigarette smoke. 

“I would encourage you to at least try; I promise you, you will _not_ be disappointed. You’ll feel real good; one should always be open to new experiences, don’t you think?” 

Okay.

Denying that the soft, lilting delivery is not attractive is pathetic.

Heat curls somewhere at the bottom of Tenzou’s abdomen, as his gaze drops down to Iruka’s lips, how it’s stretched up into an inviting smile, the edge of Iruka’s teeth chewing at the corner of his bottom lip. There is a hunger in Iruka’s gaze, coiling hot like solar flares, blowing his pupils wide. Tenzou tells himself to not move a muscle. He goes as still as as the dead, watching Iruka’s eyes glaze over with need it as it devours Tenzou’s features, tracing the line of his jaw, neck and chest, only to crawl back up to meet Tenzou’s gaze.

Iruka isn’t even trying to hide how much he wants Tenzou. 

It’s unreal. 

The cheeky, little shit. 

Prim and proper Academy teacher my ass. 

“And if I say yes?” Tenzou prompts, elbowing Kakashi behind him to contain his very distracting bemused chuckles.

Iruka’s grin takes on a sharper edge. 

That grin wraps like a fist around Tenzou’s cock, turning up the heat under his veins.

For the life of him, Tenzou does _not_ remember Iruka looking like this. 

At all.

Hell, he - and likely the people he's currently with - probably did not know that Iruka can _look_ like _this_.

Iruka has the entire village fooled with his polite mannerisms.

“Then let me tip you for your great service, Yamato-san~ I only need five minutes of your time~” Iruka’s tone is soft, deceptively shy even, when everything on his face is the exact opposite. Iruka leans up a little higher, his lips coming up besides Tenzou’s ear, as he drops his voice and says, “I want your cock in my mouth. Let me suck you off and make you feel good.”

Tenzou fails in trying to contain his shocked laughter at this point. It rips past Tenzou’s lips without control, sudden and quite loud. 

Iruka wants to tip him. 

Really. 

_Tip. Him_. 

All because Tenzou’s form, or body, or existence has served its purpose in being Iruka’s eye-candy.

Tip him, of all wording. It's so vainglorious, so fatally attractive.

Behind Tenzu, Kakashi _snorts_. 

Iruka’s attempt at a whisper clearly failed.

Tenzou brings his hands up and without seeming too cruel or dismissive, grabs Iruka by shoulders and holds him back at an arm’s distance. Iruka is grinning, just as wide as Tenzou, who shakes his head and decides that this is more than enough. As entertaining as all this may be, as tempting as it may be to have Iruka on his knees sucking his cock, Tenzou thinks that taking advantage of Iruka’s not-quite-clear-thinking is cruel.

Not that Iruka on his knees sucking Tenzou’s cock is a bad image.

Tenzou would use his hair as reigns to fuck that bawdy mouth of his. Watching those soft, ruddy lips stretch around flesh is not an ugly image.

It’s quite beautiful, actually.

And that is Tenzou’s queue to stop this farce.

“Iruka-san, I am flattered, you are doing wonders for my ego, but, I think you’ve had a lot to drink tonight. You’ll probably regret this in the morning,” Tenzou reasons logically, still hilariously failing to wipe the grin from his face, despite his valiant efforts.

“Should have held back on the alcohol there, Iruka-sensei~” Kakashi chuckles, clearly not giving up in his peanut-gallery ways.

“Rokudaime-sama, you are a nuisance. Please disappear at once. You will not cockblock me in my quest to give this man the greatest pleasure he has ever felt,” Iruka huffs. 

Tenzou cannot, for the life of him, stop the snort from tearing past his throat at _that_. Smothering it behind a fist does nothing. Iruka is the kind of guy who respected authority from what Tenzou understands. Well. Clearly, Tenzou has been proven wrong a lot of times this evening, it seems.

And what a bold statement to make. Iruka is either a fool and simply over-stating his skills at delivering said pleasure or there’s truth to it.

It entertaining, either way.

“The greatest pleasure, huh?” Kakashi is grinning. Tenzou _knows_ he’s grinning under the mask, just from the tone of Kakashi's voice. Knowing a man for years can give one that kind of edge. 

“Absolutely.” Iruka nods. “Now, run along. Go on now. The adults are negotiating. Good bye~”

Iruka makes a shooing gesture with his hand.

It is so preposterous that it has Tenzou suddenly _roaring_ with laughter. 

Other than Naruto or maybe even Sakura, he has never, in his life, seen anyone be so dismissive of Hatake Kakashi than that moment. It is so bumptious in its audacity, with Iruka wrinkling his nose like he’s caught a whiff of something foul, how he looks at the Rokudaime like he’s a buzzing mosquito refusing to go away. The dismissal of Kakashi’s rank, reputation and name is so funny that Tenzou leans against the counter trying to smother his laugh against his own shoulder. It’s also an attempt to stop the quake of his shoulders. Obviously, the gesture does nothing. Not when the laughter quakes through the entire length of his body.

(Tenzou can’t remember the last time he’s laughed quite openly like this.) 

Kakashi looks on at him with bemusement glittering in his dead-panned expression. One had to know Kakashi well enough to read between the lines -- and Tenzou, well, he’s had years of practice.

“I’m glad you find this funny,” Kakashi drawls, rolling his eyes. 

“He’s dismissing you like a dog, which is brave. It’s a little funny,” Tenzou points out before he turns to face Iruka and takes him by the shoulder. “Iruka-san, I’m taking you home.”

“Oh yes you are~” Iruka sounds gleeful, his hand brushing over the length of Tenzou’s arm, grazing softly over the curve of Tenzou’s shoulder before they brush warmly around the skin of Tenzou’s neck, just under his pulse point. 

Tenzou shakes his head as he tugs Iruka’s hand away from his neck, turning him around towards the general direction of the entrance and exit.

“That means you’re still cockblocked, Iruka~” Kakashi sing-songs, his eyes arched to perfect crescents.

“I hope you get so gassy and develop severe diarrhea from all the dumplings you so voraciously ate, Rokudaime-sama that no one ever offers you blowjobs and your ass constantly remains on fire. May you fart unflattering, disgusting farts for weeks, Rokudaime-sama!” 

The crowd around him gasps at Iruka’s rather loud declaration, as they look at Hokage and the person who dares wish him ill.

“Okay!” Tenzou announces quite loudly in between trying to stifle the laughter that has no other direction to go but past his mouth. “Let’s go. Now. Later, senpai.”

Tenzou had expected resistance as he wraps an arm around Iruka and shunshins them both away from the party site.

Iruka is surprisingly very pliant in his arms.

*

Or not.

Maybe leaving the party via shunshin had been a bad idea.

Tenzou has to use his strength to keep Iruka from ending up like a fallen sack of potatoes on the ground once they land in a corner street by the bachelor pads. Iruka groans as his fingers wrap in a vice around Tenzou’s forearms, his head ducked as he unsteadily tries to pull away.

“Oh gods…” Iruka grumbles, bringing a hand up to his mouth as he pushes Tenzou away, swatting at him like he’s a persistent housefly. “I don’t feel good.”

“Ah, see, you did have a little too much to drink, hmm?” Tenzou prompts, shaking his head as he carefully steer Iruka towards the side of the street.

“Well, I wasn’t going to come up to you and offer to suck your cock while the Rokudaime is right there. I mean, really, I only had two shots and five cocktails. That’s hardly enough to get me drunk.” Iruka tartly responds, before dissolving to another groan and pressing his head against the concrete wall of the nearest building. 

“And yet you’ve insulted him without shame. Honestly, that’s admirable. I thought only Team Seven had the balls to do that,” Tenzou chuckles, tucking his hands into his pockets. He’ll give Iruka few minutes to get the no doubt, roiling nausea to calm down. 

“I didn’t insult him.” Iruka shakes his head, turning around to lean against the wall and slowly lower himself to the ground, his head craned a little backwards, exposing the length of his neck to the cool air.

“You did,” Tenzou corrects. “You even shoo’d him. Like a dog. Wished diarrhea and severe flatulence on him, too.”

Iruka stares at him for a long time. Tenzou swears he sees the knot and bolts in Iruka’s brain all slide into its proper place as realization dawns on him.

The color promptly drops from Iruka’s face.

Honestly, Tenzou is having trouble deciding what’s the funniest thing he’s been made witness to tonight. Iruka freaking out right now over his behavior with the Rokudaime or his dismissal of Rokudaime or his bad pick up line. 

All this within the span of no longer than ten minutes.

It's a very hard choice.

Tenzou would be the world's biggest liar if he states that Iruka has not made a lasting impression on him. After the past two hours alone, it'll be hard to forget someone like Umino Iruka. 

“Oh gods…” Iruka mumbles, turning what looks like a constipated expression towards Tenzou. “Is that treason?” Iruka’s voice actually goes up an octave.

It makes Tenzou _snort_ with amusement that he tries to stop by pressing a hand to his mouth to no avail. The sound dissolves to another laugh as Tenzou shakes his head and offers Iruka a hand, tugging him back up to his feet and looping Iruka’s arm around his shoulder for support.

“Iruka-san, let’s just focus on the things we can control now. Where exactly do you live?”

Iruka doesn’t get to answer because he suddenly shoves Tenzou aside, turning his face away towards the wall of the building and promptly empties his stomach. Liquid and chunks splatter in a hot mess all over the wall and asphalt, as Tenzou takes a step back and watches Iruka try to speak in between choking upheaves of alcohol and fine catering. Somewhere in between all the heaving and spitting, Iruka crows sentences like, oh he’ll kill me, oh gods, I’m fucked and my life is over. It doesn’t form all the way because it gets cut off in the middle with the force of Iruka emptying his stomach of everything he consumed that night.

Iruka’s fear of Kakashi shifts to that of regret and lamenting loss, as Iruka stares down at the mess he’s made as he dry heaves some more all while saying oh gods the fatty tuna, oh no the shrimp salad, I didn’t even absorb all the expensive shit -- what the fuck. 

It’s an odd thing to be mad about.

Was Iruka that poor? Was he underpaid, or something? If he wanted fatty tuna, Tenzou is more than willing to buy him the entire fish as thanks for this rather entertaining night. 

Tenzou watches all this with an arm across his middle and a fist covering his grin that he fails, no matter how hard he tries, to smother. He really should help Iruka, maybe rub his back. Or at least stop being entertained, put more effort into stopping his laughter. But Iruka isn’t exactly choking and it’s not like his hair is getting all over his face. And really, watching all this from a safe distance away is entertaining.

Who even knew Iruka had a mouth like that on him? Because now, the curses are quite creative.

“I knew going to that party was a fucking bad idea; I should have never listened to those shit-ass-clowns!” Iruka grouches, stepping away from his pool of vomit on the floor, wiping the back of his wrist over his mouth in a vicious swipe.

“See? You’re regretting going to the party already. Now imagine how much you’ll regret actually sucking me off in the morning,” Tenzou gently prompts, regretting that he doesn’t have any napkins or anything useful to offer Iruka to wipe himself with. 

Iruka huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Yamato-san, me wanting to suck your cock has not changed. You’re my type, the exact kind I would go for -- I can’t believe I missed you! And I’m saying this clear-headed after getting all that out of my system." Iruka points at the puddle of vomit by the wall. Like it's some sort of wild animal and he's documentary narrator. "I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s all right, no harm done,” Tenzou assures, not sure if he should be amused or impressed by Iruka’s insistence to give him a blowjob. 

“I’ll admit it. I’m a little irritated that I never noticed you before.”

“Maybe you just weren’t interested.” Tenzou shrugs. He doesn’t know why Iruka chooses to notice him now. Flattering as it may be. 

“Well, I’m a fucking idiot, aren’t I?” Iruka looks him, with an expression that is earnest, a little self deprecating in a way, both his dimples peeking out and dotting his cheeks as he smiles, shrugging a shoulder. “Do you still want that blowjob? Are you even interested?” Iruka asks, looking at him expectantly.

In the slightly breezier street, a gust of summer wind blows past, tousling the loose strands of Iruka’s hair. It drifts briefly, before Iruka reaches up to tuck the strands behind his ear, resting his weight on a much steadier leg, as he eyes Tenzou expectantly. The flush slowly rises to his cheeks as Tenzou stares at him, taking in the length of Iruka’s body, how his throat bobs as he tries to no doubt, clear the bitter after-burn of vomiting so viciously. 

Iruka is quite lovely to look at, isn’t he?

Tenzou decides he most definitely wants that blow job. 

Who in the right mind wouldn’t want him when Iruka looks like _that_?

“Not like this,” Tenzou answers, a little softer than he intends to. 

“I respect that. And, well, it is a little disgusting, isn’t it?” Iruka’s nose wrinkles as he reaches up to rub the back of his head sheepishly, a flush burning all over his face, dousing it in red. “I’m really sorry.”

It’s quite fascinating, how Iruka vacillates between being flirty, to seductive, to insulting, to a potty mouth and now this endearing thing -- it’s too much of a personality, too loud, too open for anyone who wants to look, his emotions and honesty freely offered to anyone who wants it. Iruka hides nothing, even as the embarrassment make his throat bob and his shoulder slump.

Tenzou thinks Iruka has no reason to feel ashamed of what happened. It’s biology, nothing more. Tenzou isn’t the type to judge someone for being sick after having a few drinks. It’s not like Iruka is wreaking havoc and being a nuisance to the public. He’s actually standing there quite put together, his eyes clearer than the slightly tipsier edge it had been earlier. 

Iruka remains just as attractive, if not beautiful in the summer breeze.

“I wouldn’t be comfortable taking advantage of your offer when I know you’re at most, a little tipsy,” Tenzou points out, punctuating his reasoning with a cock of his eyebrow. 

Iruka’s shoulders slump in the wake of Tenzou’s pointed look, as he sighs in defeat. “Yamato-san is honorable, then. Not a lot of your kind around.”

That makes Tenzou blink. 

So Iruka does go around picking men up this way.

Interesting.

A part of Tenzou wonders if Naruto is aware of this side of his favorite teacher and father-figure. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Iruka shrugs. “You’re not making it easier for me to not be attracted to you, by the way.” 

“Is that so?” Tenzou grins, amusement curling around the syllables just as his ego swells as big as a hot air balloon.

“Very much so,” Iruka sighs. “What I’m going to take away from this experience is that you’re not put off by me, that there is interest there. Which leads me to my next question that, now that I think about, I should have asked earlier. Are you in a committed relationship? Don’t you dare lie to me, please. I don’t break houses or relationships. Because if you are and you’re interested, well, shame on you! You asshole.”

Tenzou ducks his shaking his head, his lips stretching to his widest grin yet. He looks up to meet Iruka’s very serious expression. It’s cute, how his eyebrows slope down, how his chin wrinkles just the slightest bit in that frown of his. Years ago, a shinobi like Iruka who wears his emotions at his sleeve would have irritated the living fuck out of Tenzou. It’s un-shinobi-like, this openness, this loud, onslaught of emotions that should be boxed in, concealed. It had no business being in the light. 

But a year and counting with Team Seven has changed Tenzou’s perspective on a lot of things.

If there’s one thing he’s learned after becoming Yamato, it is that being open, the way Naruto is open, can be the key to a lot of things towards a better future.

That being honest instead of smothering the fire with the shadows is what paved the way to the peace they have now.

Iruka is a roaring fire, all heat and warmth and passion -- Tenzou sees where Naruto gets it. 

Or it could be just the alcohol.

But then again, alcohol doesn’t change a person. It just brings out the things they tend to hide and smother when they walk around in broad daylight.

“I am not in a committed relationship,” Tenzou answers. 

“Okay, good. Most excellent.” Iruka rubs his throat, turning his face away as they both step out of the alley. “Can I at least offer you a cup of tea? There’s a cafe down the road.”

Tenzou turns the idea in his head a few times. He finds no harm in it so he nods. It’s not like he’s got a better place to be.

“I can do tea.” 

*

Save for an elderly couple, the cafe is devoid of other patrons. 

The cafe is small, tucked despondent and almost out of sight amidst a street of brightly lit restaurants and clothing shops. It looks like it is making a huge effort to look gray and washed out, hunched in itself. The inside, however, is another story. It is the kind of place the younger generation would frequently visit. It’s all low ceiling, dim lights, cheery, warm, the walls and floors a soft, varnished brown, with devil’s ivy hanging from wooden pots hanging from the ceiling. The menu is written in colorful chalk just above the counter, a humble selection, not much to choose from. On the counter are empty pastry trays, that without a doubt, would be stacked high with baked goods in the morning. 

Tenzou can picture Iruka in a place like this, tucked into one of leather seats in the corner by the window, reading through his student’s work books or drafting his weekly lesson plan.

It isn’t the kind of place Tenzou would step into but he understands the charm of it.

Iruka greets the young man manning the counter with a smile, asking for a tall glass of mint and ginger green tea. Tenzou asks for black tea and mint. 

A few minutes later, Tenzou is sitting across Iruka in the corner table of the cafe, their knees almost touching under the table, watching him hold a mug between his clean sanitized hands from the liquid pump he had so shamelessly abused while they ordered, eyes downcast as he inhales the fragrant steam wafting up from the fairly large cup. His eyelashes are fairly long, thick, curling over his cheeks as strands of his bangs tumble free from their swept-up perch on the top of Iruka’s head. They cast shadows over Iruka’s features, softening him even more, making him look a lot more beautiful. Tenzou watches him take a careful sip of his tea, the tip of his tongue brushing over the upper tier of his lips as he swallows the calming, fragrant drink, a soft, comforted sigh tumbling past Iruka’s lips in a soft exhale.

Iruka’s index fingers taps gently around the curve of his ceramic mug, a pleasured gesture it seems, as he brings the rim of his cup to his lips to take another sip.

Watching Iruka drink tea gives Tenzou an idea of how his lips would look like when sucking hard cock. 

The heat flushes his lips a velvety ruddy shade, leaving it glossy from the steam and damp in the aftermath of each sip.

Tenzou would come on his face willingly. His cum may just look attractive on that jaw, that chin. Even better if Iruka would smile with his dimples visible, as droplets of white trickled into the hollow of those dimples.

Iruka really is quite lovely to look at. 

Tenzou thinks he too, is an idiot for not noticing.

In fact, the entire village is made up of fools for not noticing.

“Are you thinking about it?” Iruka asks, lifting his gaze from the rim of his cup, looking at Tenzou from under the hood of his lashes.

“Of what?” Tenzou asks, calm, collected, taking a careful sip of his tea like he hasn’t been imagining coming all over Iruka’s face.

“My mouth on your cock,” Iruka prompts gently. 

“Let it go, Iruka-san, it’s not going to happen.” Tenzou shakes his head, hiding his bemused smirk behind the rim of his cup.

“You sure?” 

“Positive,” Tenzou confirms, setting his mug down, meeting Iruka’s stare head on. 

One of Iruka’s dimples hollows for a moment before he sets his mug down as well. “It’s your hair,” he says, the same way someone would reveal a secret.

“My… hair?” Tenzou reaches up to sweet at the top of his head. 

“Yes, it’s this,” Iruka murmurs, his chin resting on a palm, his elbow propped on the table. Tenzou doesn’t break eye contact, doesn’t move a muscle as Iruka reaches a little further behind Tenzou’s head, grasping the base of his ponytail and bringing the length of his hair over a shoulder. Iruka’s fingers brushes over the silky, thick strands, watching it fall from his fingers over Tenzou’s chest. He takes a lock between his thumb and index finger, exhaling softly as Iruka retracts his hands, feeling the slide of that lock of hair between his fingers all the way to the tip. Tenzou doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Iruka speaks again. “It’s what caught my attention. Which lead me to noticing you. You have beautiful hair, Yamato-san.”

“I’m not going to keep it, but, thank you for the compliment,” Tenzou murmurs, clearing his suddenly very dry throat. “So long hair does it for you, hmm?”

“Well, not necessarily.” Iruka shrugs as he picks up his mug and takes another long sip of his tea. “Your body is beautiful too.” Tenzou wants to point out that any active shinobi is built the same way as him but refrains, opting instead to cock his eyebrows, the corner of his lips tilting upwards. “Keep looking at me like that and I’m going to kiss you.”

“You’re assuming I’d let you,” Tenzou counters.

Iruka’s lips curls upwards slowly, knowingly, as he hums softly and takes a sip from his tea, keeping his eyes on Tenzou the entire time. Tenzou knows his response is empty resistance.

He would let Iruka kiss him. 

There’s no doubt about that now. 

*

Iruka thankfully, doesn’t bring the topic up of sucking Tenzou’s cock anymore. 

They settle for quiet company until their mugs are empty before stepping out into the slightly humid street. They walk at a sedate pace towards Iruka’s address, a corner building set right above a bakery. Like everything in Konoha after the great war, the building is new, it’s stairwell still freshly painted when perhaps, once upon a time, before Konoha had been reduced to ash and rubble, it probably would have been rusty, peeling paint and all.

Iruka unlocks his door while Tenzou firmly stands two feet away from said door. A polite distance. A silent message that he is not coming inside. That walking Iruka home after a detour for a cup of tea is simply him doing his due diligence, no matter how much, at this point, Tenzou wants to put his mouth over Iruka’s, especially after watching Iruka’s ponytail bob with each step as they walked back to his apartment, after watching him tuck his hair behind his ears only about fifty times since the bar, after watching Iruka’s ass fucking sashay temptingly in the tight confines of his black pants. Right in front of him. 

As round, firm, toned like a fucking summer peach.

“I hope I’m not keeping you from the party,” Iruka says over his shoulder, as he unlocks the front door and pushes it open, reaching into the far wall from within to flick a light switch on.

“You aren’t. I was preparing to leave the party when you came over,” Tenzou answers politely. “How do you feel? Still nauseous?” 

“Much better. The tea helped. So did the vomiting, to be honest.” Iruka’s shoulders slump briefly before he lifts them up in a shrug. “You didn’t have to walk me home, you know?”

“I know,” Tenzou agrees. 

“I appreciate it,” Iruka murmurs.

“You’re welcome.” Tenzou dips his head, watching as a flush gently rises to the apples of Iruka’s cheeks. He really is quite cute. 

Iruka steps forward, away from the genkan, right into Tenzou’s space, toe to toe, almost chest to chest. His hands come up to Tenzou’s neck. Within a second, Iruka brushes his lips over Tenzou’s in a soft, gentle press, his teeth grazing over Tenzou’s bottom lip, just as a warm tongue darts out to lick a line across the curve of Tenzou’s upper lip.

It lasts perhaps three seconds at most, with Tenzou keeping his hands to himself while Iruka’s fingers crushes the fine hairs on Tenzou’s nape. The arousal that sweeps through Tenzou’s body is so strong that it leaves his cock half hard in his pants.

Ridiculous. Just fucking ridiculous.

“Happy?” Tenzou asks, tasting something ghostly sweet in his lips. It takes a lot of self control to not run his own tongue over his lips to chase after that flavor. Surprisingly, there isn't a trace of sourness at all.

Iruka grins, both dimples hollowing. “Good night, Yamato-san,” 

Tenzou exhales bemusedly, shaking his head. The grin on his face is wide though, and something he doesn’t bother to restrain as he turns around to leave. “Good night, Iruka.”

Tenzou reaches the end of the hall when he hears Iruka’s door click shut.

*

Technically, Iruka had been sober.

Very sober, even.

Tenzou reaches the bottom of the stairwell when he looks down at himself and notices that his hard on isn’t disappearing. Maybe it’s the lingering sweetness on his lips, maybe it’s the memory of Iruka’s incredibly gentle, teasing touch to his neck, or maybe it’s the heady scent of citrus and spice that remains in his lungs long after he’s walked away from Iruka.

It’s not like it’s wrong to want a rain-check on that blowjob, right?

Just to get it out of his system, so to speak. 

Tenzou stares at himself for several, long minutes before he makes a decision. He climbs up the stairs once more, taking two steps at a time with the intention of just asking Iruka to join him for dinner the next day.

He’s on his second knock when the door opens rather quickly, Iruka standing there without his shirt, his hair free from his ponytail, probably in the middle of cleaning up dressing down for bed, a flush spreading on his cheeks, surprise evident. There's a smudge of white on the corner of his mouth; Tenzou guesses it is toothpaste.

“Tea tomorrow?” Tenzou asks, a little sheepish.

And maybe —if not pathetically — a little hopeful.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IRUKA YOU FUCKING THIRSTY SLUT HAHAHA
> 
> That let me tip you line? All Rikacain/flashbastard’s fault ( ´ ▽ ` )


	3. Oh Yay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-beta'd. Might have missed some shit.

It’ll take a lesser man than Iruka to say no to the question. Not when Yamato stands there, a bit of pink dusting over his cheeks, so light that one would miss it if one wasn’t looking close enough. When Yamato looks so earnest in his invitation, open, something bright in his gaze, when the tug of his lips upwards is almost shy, hopeful, with the barest hint of something sharper, hawklike, glimmers in the depths of his gaze, accentuated by the flash of his teeth. 

Iruka suddenly forgets to breathe in the wake of that question, the weight of Yamato’s gaze only fueling a fire that Iruka knows, no amount of fierce strokes with his fist around his own cock will satisfy at this point. 

It’ll take an even lesser man to not grab Yamato by the hem of his shirt and jerk him into the apartment, the action of it all punctuated with the sharp inhale Yamato takes and the curt slam of Iruka’s door.

“Yes,” Iruka exhales, an agreement to the invitation Yamato presented him with.

Iruka turns the lock on the door, the resounding click of it making Yamato lean back against wood, shoulder blades flat on the grain of it, softness that had been on his face now gone, replaced by something a little more tightly bridled, with just a hint of vehemence that leaves Iruka’s throat incredibly dry.

Gods, how can one man be so attractive in his silence? How can one say so little, and yet do so much with nothing more but a casual lean against the door?

Iruka knows that if Yamato did not want to be  _ in _ his apartment, he’d be gone by now.

“I’m going to take the fact that you’re still here as you wanting to take me up on my offer,” Iruka states, clear, precise, as he leans into Yamato’s space, chin tilting up just the slightest bit, as Yamato tilts his own chin down. Their gaze meet, the brush of their breaths against each other warm, heated, charged. “Though, you should probably hold on to that offer for tea tomorrow and ask me again when I’m done.”

“Me wanting to take you out for tea tomorrow has nothing to do with you wanting to suck my cock, Iruka-san,” Yamato points out, as his gaze drops briefly to Iruka’s mouth.

Iruka presses closer, palms flattening over the door on either side of Yamato’s head, head tilting as if he’s ready to lean in, claim that captain’s mouth, quench parched dryness of his throat for just a few seconds, just as his thigh brushes against the hardened flesh confined within the fabric of Yamato’s pants.

“Liars go to hell,” Iruka points out, swiping a tongue over his lips that, much to his pleased ego, earns him a slow, incredibly measured breath intake from Yamato, lips parting just the slightest breathe, when the sound of Yamato trying to keep things under control, that one mere breath, cuts into the silence of the room very loudly. “But okay, lets pretend I believe you for the next… five minutes.”

“Just five?” Yamato asks, almost petulant.

Iruka doesn’t deem that with a verbal.

He’s firmly pressing a hand against the side of Yamato’s head, grasping short strands of hair in his fingers as he tilts the captain’s head the opposite side and slant their mouths together. He warm rush of Yamato’s lips upon Iruka’s leaves Iruka scrambling to get closer, to leave no space between them, his bare chest flushed against the slightly damped-by-humidity gray t-shirt, as Yamato’s hands come to rest firmly, bruisingly tight on Iruka’s hips. Iruka’s kiss is savage, tearing, desperate, like he’s expecting to be yanked away any second, even as Yamato’s palm flattens on his lower back, fingers and nails dragging raw lines up the lenght of Iruka’s spine, going over the jagged scar that leaves Iruka stuttering for breath against the brush of Yamato’s tongue on his lower lip.

Yamato’s hands chooses, at that very moment, to clamp over the the knot of Iruka’s loosened ponytail, yanking the hair tie out so viciously, that Iruka is forced to crane his neck, following it until the audible snap of the hair tie suddenly interrupts their kiss.

“Oops,” Yamato says, not at all apologetic.

It tears a laugh out of Iruka as he quickly reaches down with fumbling fingers to push the hem of Yamato’s shirt upwards. He doesn’t push it off Yamato all the way, but enough that it bunches up on his upper chest, enough that Iruka peppers kisses down the corners of Yamato’s mouth, over his chin and the length of his jaw, before jumping down to brush his tongue over a dusky nipple. The shudder that follows with that simple flick of tongue leaves Iruka grinning, as he exhales over the expanse of scarred and yet smooth, rock hard muscle and strength, as he sinks to his knees and cranes his gaze up while his fingers undos the buttons of Yamato’s pants, their gaze locks as the heated flush rides high on the Yamato’s cheeks -- gods, fuck, he’s gorgeous.

From where Iruka is kneeling, it’s like looking up at a sculpture of the deities that stand guard at Fire’s holy temples.

Yamato’s hair is splayed over his shoulder, some bunched and curling against the door.

He’s beautiful.

Iruka’s fingers tremble, as the zipper comes, followed by the waistband of Tenzou’s pants and underwear, bunching down to mid thigh as his cock, now thick, heavy, pulsing dark with arousal bobs free. Iruka takes a moment to admire the girth of it, the thickness of this very, very attractive captain’s cock, how it tilts just a little bit to the ride, its head ruddy, already beading with precum in the wake of Iruka’s ardent attention. It twitches under the slow, gentle caress of Iruka’s fingers, Yamato’s abdomen tightening, further defining the muscles on his abdominal, as he keeps his fingers flat against Iruka’s head, eerily and almost disinterestedly still, just like the rest of him. 

Except for Yamato’s cock.

Yamato’s cock betrays the tight silence. It twitches again, precum beading copiously, dripping down the head, as Iruka looks from the ruddy head to meet Yamato’s gaze, over to the tip of Iruka’s tongue.

Iruka do so love how Yamato tries to keep so vigilantly still.

Like he still thinks he can walk away from all this.

Iruka watches as Yamato’s jawline pulls taut, the tendons on his neck bulging for just a second, before Iruka laughs like he’s conquered the battlefield.

Yamato’s fingers tightening over the length of Iruka’s hair as Iruka wraps his mouth around his cock sends fire down Iruka’s spine. It makes Iruka spread his knees wider, arching his lower back just a little bit outwards just so that he can get the most friction out of the tight confines of his denim pants. The clock starts ticking mentally as Iruka wraps both his hands around the generous length of Yamato’s cock, stroking and taking that length deeper into his mouth, working around his gag reflex, setting a brutal pace to meet his five-minute-deadline. 

Yamato’s stays remarkably still, his hips not at all jerking into the wet, hungry salacious strokes of Iruka’s lips, tongue and throat. 

But then Yamato thumbs his head back, eyes scrunched shut as he exhales through his bared teeth and that is all it takes for Iruka to dive in deeper, the sight of it, how Yamato’s entire body is pulled taut by his desire to not just  _ fuck _ Iruka’s mouth, how he tries to remain a good man, an honorable man when he’s got the length of his flesh down Iruka’s throat, when his hands does nothing to stop the maddening, heated pace Iruka has set, when his head bobs furiously, hungrily, devouring flesh greedily, uncaring how saliva and precum trickles down chin, onto his chest, how gleaming drops end up on the white white tiles of the genkan. 

Iruka can only jerk his hips, his own engorged cock brushing against the folds of fabric, the sweetest of friction making him groan around the the head brushing against the back of his throat, his eyes rolling back when his hips undulates just a little bit more, eyelids fluttering when he holds that entire length in his mouth for a few seconds, one wet, sticky hand pressing against the heated flex of Yamato’s abdominal, as he rides out another brush of friction against his cock and -- gods, he is going come like this.

Iruka is going to come with nothing more than flesh tickling the back of his throat and the heat of Yamato’s hands fisted around his hair, the soft brush of the fine, slightly coarse dark hair tickling his chin. All while staring up at Yamato who is now flushed to his chest, shirt bunched up under his armpits, his entire body flexed and ready for release. 

The visual of it, how Iruka knows he’s reduced the only man in existence with the Shodaime’s DNA in his blood, how he’s turned this respectable, polite and mostly quiet man to something more primal, raw, his gaze predatory as he watches Iruka’s hips roll just the slightest bit forward -- suddenly Iruka is gasping, loud, tapering off to a keen when his vision suddenly alights with white and he comes. Sudden, uncontrolled just as Yamato  _ yanks _ him off his cock, leaving the back of his throat spasming at the sudden emptiness, the sudden loss of that thick flesh in his mouth.

Iruka cries out in shock, his chest heaving, as Yamato cranes his neck back with one hand, his other wrapping around his cock as he comes all over Iruka’s face, thick, white, heat splattering over Iruka’s check, lips and chin. 

Four minutes and fifteen seconds. 

Iruka’s eyelids flutter open to the head of Yamato’s spent cock, still dripping cum over his cheek, as he grins and very carefully, opens his mouth and adjusts the angle of his head just  _ so _ , taking the rest of the cum into his mouth.

Now  _ that _ , earns Iruka soft groan.

“Told you,” Iruka murmurs, as his tongue darts out to trace a line over the slit of Yamato’s cock. “I just needed five minutes.”

“You little shit…” The words are rough, hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I wish you’d come in my mouth though,” Iruka complains, sighing as he brings a finger up to brush the cum off his cheek into his mouth. “Now look at all this waste. Ah--”

Iruka doesn’t get to protest more after that. Yamato has him off the ground and pinned to the door instead, one hand around his neck, the other firmly holding him in place by the hip, as Yamato darts his tongue out, and with it, swipes the rest of the cum on Iruka’s chin back up into his mouth, sealing it with a kiss and forcing Iruka to swallow the ribald flavor, groaning throatily the entire time.

“You filthy, little shit,” Yamato murmurs, lips pulled back in a grin.

“And you still want to take me to tea, Yamato-san?” Iruka asks, soft, innocent, returning the grin. 

Yamato leans in again, kissing him, this one a lot slower, less rushed, more sensual in the caress of his lips and tongue. It’s enough to make Iruka’s entire world spin again. Iruka cannot remember the last time he’s been kissed like this, with something a little more - dare he say - tender. It’s been years.

It leaves him weak in the knees, when he knows it’s only going to last for the next few moments Yamato remains in his presence.

“Actually, you’re right, I changed my mind.”

Iruka cannot pretend the the swoop of disappointment that follows doesn’t affect him, as Yamato pulls back from the murmured words and very measurably places his hands on the door, on either side of Iruka’s head as he cants his head to one side, as if contemplating how to end their little encounter without being incredibly insulting.

Iruka almost rolls his eyes.

He doesn’t get the chance to because Yamato says, “I was wondering if I could, if that is get you breakfast instead. Otherwise, if that doesn’t work, well, dinner. You were so upset about the fatty-tuna and shrimp earlier.”

It’s rare for Iruka to be speechless.

It’s even more rare for him to be caught off guard when he’s engaging with one of his once-and-done partners. He stands there, leaning against the door, unsure what the offer means. It didn’t seem fair to just accept

“I’ll accept it with pleasure, Yamato-san, but only if you’re willing to indulge me with your cock a little more,” Iruka says, reaching forward and wrapping his fingers around the length of Yamato’s now, softened cock. “Does that sound like a suitable negotiation?” 

Because otherwise, it would sound too close to being a date and Iruka -- well, he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t  _ dare _ .

“I think that sounds quite fair,” Yamato murmurs, sucking in a soft breath as his cock ever so slightly twitches in Iruka’s palms, one hand coming up to cup Iruka’s face as he says, whisper-soft, “I am all yours.”

*

They fuck until dawn breaks across the horizon, with Iruka coming for the third time that evening spread out on his bed, knees to his chest and Tenzou emptying his cock in his ass as he cranes his head up to the ceiling and grunts ever so softly, the sound of it drowned out by Iruka’s more strangled cry, teeth bared at the headboard.

They remain like that for a minute, until Tenzou ducks his head and presses his forehead to Iruka’s shoulder, breathing heavily as he carefully releases the hold he had on the back of Iruka’s knees, spent cock pulling out with one, salacious slick, lurid in its sound that leaves Iruka’s thighs quivering. Tenzou is careful when he lowers Iruka’s knees down, movements measured as he rolls to the side on his back with a tired but pleased groan, his head hitting the pillow as his eyes drifts shut. 

They lie like that, side by side on the bed, as dawn continues to brighten the sky, spilling gentle, soft gold into the small space of Iruka’s bedroom. Tenzou must have dozed off for a few minutes in all the stillness, because when he comes to, Iruka is fast asleep, damp hair fanned out on the pillow, lips slightly parted. There is something ethereal in this quiet moment, as Iruka continues to ignore the rest of the world, the side of his head resting ever so slightly on the curve of Tenzou’s shoulder, just above the red swirl of the ANBU mark.

There is something too soft about that small gesture. Almost vulnerable.

Tenzou knows he should move, clean up, restore some order, maybe gather their clothes that’s scattered all over the living room and bedroom, go about investigating where he can get breakfast.

But Iruka shifts the slightest bit, his head leaning further into Tenzou’s arm and he decides, okay, just a little longer then.

Tenzou closes his eyes and gives into his whim to sleep for another hour or two. At least then, he won’t feel as bad waking Iruka up or pulling away.

*

It’s hours later, when Iruka makes a sleepy noise of complaint at a loud crash somewhere in the bakery below. He jerks a little awake, making Tenzou peel his eyes open and turn to look at Iruka rubbing a fist over an eye and trying to read the time on the clock on the wall.

“It’s Saturday, go back to sleep,” Tenzou says, watching as Iruka turns to look at him, something like confusion

“Yamato-san,” Iruka murmurs, like he’s not sure if he’s seeing things right. 

“Come back to sleep,” Tenzou offers, and watches as something flashes on Iruka’s face, something a little out of place, strange, too vulnerable. It’s like an animal backing away to the back of its cage, almost cornered, terrified. All this in a span of two seconds. Tenzou thinks it’s not an attractive look on Iruka, when Iruka is confident, steadfast, strong, shameless in all ways that’s ridiculously attractive. 

Iruka doesn’t come back to sleep immediately, not until Tenzou reaches up and pulls him back to bed, tugging the thin sheets over their bare bodies. Tenzou’s chest lies flushed against Iruka’s back, his morning erection brushing against the curve of Iruka’s ass who, if anything, simply arches towards it in silent invitation.

It’s easy, lifting Iruka’s leg slowly and oh so slowly sliding into his pliant body, listening to the soft exhale drift past Iruka’s lips as Tenzou’s hard cock seats itself full in his ass. It’s almost intimate, how Tenzou rolls his lips forward, his thrusts deep, slow, sensual, taking his time as he hooks the back of Iruka’s knee on the crook of his arm, his hand pressing over Iruka’s stomach as his lips traces soft kisses on Iruka’s shoulder. 

They move against each other, grinding, Iruka’s slowly cresting pleasure measured by how tight his fingers grip Tenzou’s hand.

They come together, their climax drawn out with the morning light brushing over their knees and toes, the rest of them in the shadows cast by the drapes and the walls, Iruka’s lips trembling as he whispers  _ Yamato _ , his ass tightening around Tenzou’s cock, milking him dry. 

When it's over, Yamato lowers Iruka’s leg down but goes still when Iruka holds him place, not wanting him to pull out yet. 

They lie like that, in the silent, warm, comfortable afterglow, nestled against each other, before Tenzou decides that he wants to hear Iruka again. Wants to hear the syllables of his name spill from Iruka’s mouth breathlessly, beautifully, uncontrolled.

“Tenzou,” Tenzou murmurs, the syllables brushing over Iruka’s shoulder blade.

“Hmm?”

“My name,” Tenzou says, as his forehead presses against the back of Iruka’s hair, the soft, heady scent of oranges and cinnamon filling his lungs. “Tenzou is my name. Not Yamato.”

“Oh…” Iruka sighs, surprise evident in the response. “Tenzou,” He says, testing the syllables out, seeing how it rolls past his tongue. Tenzou thinks, with the way it's said, the softness around it, well, it almost like it means something. Has some weight. “Hmm, well, then, thank you for your great service, Tenzou~”

Tenzou huffs a soft breath of amusement at that, as he grinds his spent cock into Iruka’s ass, his teeth bared into a grin.

*

Tenzou doesn’t think he’s ever spent a full day in bed on a weekend, the novelty of such a thing lost on him because it’s not always guaranteed that he’d be in the village on a weekend. And if he happens to have a partner over for the evening, they’re usually gone within a few hours. During the rare times Kakashi had spent the night over, they don’t exactly lie in bed spooned against each other once the fucking is over, either, even when, Tenzou can say, without batting an eyelash, that Kakashi is a very attractive man in his own right.

Tenzou probably wouldn’t have minded wrapping an arm around Kakashi if that had been a thing between them.

He certainly does not mind holding Iruka at all.

Maybe it’s the way he fit in his arms, how the slighter frame tucks rather cozily. Maybe it’s way Iruka has pushed his feet in between Tenzou’s, warming cold toes between Tenzou’s warmer ones, or maybe it’s just the way Iruka has his face pillowed on Tenzou’s arm, his soft breath brushing against Tenzou’s skin, as Tenzou watches the gold sunshine reflect within each strand of Iruka’s hair. 

It’s silly. Almost sentimental.

But Tenzou cannot deny how comfortable he is at this whole cuddling, holding someone schtick.

And with how Iruka has delivered more than just a fantastic blowjob, how he’s held up his promise of showing Tenzou the greatest pleasure he’s ever known -- well, Tenzou isn’t one to complain or let this go any time soon. 

Not yet, anyway.

*

They eventually roll out of bed late in the afternoon, the sun burning a darker orange as skies gradually get darker with overcast clouds that promise summer showers that may last all night long. Iruka offers the bathroom first, giving Tenzou a clean towel, a plastic comb and airing out his clothes from the previous night the best he can. 

Iruka is a good host, as he prepares a late cup of coffee just as Tenzou steps out of the bathroom, his long damp hair clinging to his back and chest. Iruka knows he’s staring, knows his gaze is raking up and down the red marks that litters the length of Tenzou’s body, bruises in the shape of Iruka’s fingers, red lines on his shoulder back, teeth marks that looks swollen and -- well, Iruka doesn’t think he’s seen anything more attractive than the sight before him.

It leaves his throat impressively dry, as he turns around when Tenzou begins to pull his clothes back on. 

“It looks like it might rain,” Tenzou says. 

“It does,” Iruka sighs, picking up the spare mug from the counter and turning to find Tenzou gathering the length of his towel dried hair up into a low, messy bun at the nape of his neck. 

“Are you opposed to stepping out?” Tenzou asks, as he accepts the offered coffee and brings it to his lips, inhaling the aroma deeply for a moment before he takes a careful sip.

“For?” Iruka blinks, not sure why he’d want to step out. He had planned to just clean the apartment.

“Dinner.”

Iruka looks up at that, not expecting Tenzou to fall through with what he had proposed the night before. He had not expected him to even remember it, given how they’ve fucked for hours. There isn’t even a reason to pursue the matter anymore. Most people don’t anyway. This is the part where they say thanks for the coffee and then end the entire encouter with a meaningless I’ll see you around.

But here’s Tenzou looking expectantly at him, the corners of his lips curved up in a smile that he hides behind the rim of his mug.

Iruka honestly cannot remember the last time he’s even been asked out to dinner. 

After the fucking, that is. 

Before the fucking, sure. Countless times. But after?

Huh.

It makes the heat gather somewhere around his neck, slowly climbing up to his jaw and settling over his cheeks and bridge of his nose. Iruka turns to look away, suddenly shy in just a thin robe he’s hastily tugged on to cover up, his gaze sweeping over the skies beyond his bedroom window as he swallows dryly - hilariously nervous - and shrugs.

“What’s a little rain, huh?” 

“Indeed,” Tenzou murmurs, reaching out to brush cool fingers over Iruka’s jaw, just so that he can reach up and tuck a strand of loose hair behind his ear. It’s a gentle caress, so unlike the way Tenzou had ended up manhandling him the night before. Iruka has got the marks and bruises on his body that ought to keep him warm for the nights to come as proof.

The touch leaves Iruka incredibly flustered, as he stammers out a hasty retreat, making a beeline for the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

When he looks in the mirror, he’s as red as a summer cherry.

It’s fucking ridiculous.

*

Dinner turns out to be a lavish affair.

Tenzou takes Iruka to a place that has a menu that is enough to make Iruka question the entire ordeal. Tenzou must have seen the protest building up somewhere on Iruka’s face and simply shushes him, turns him around and thanks their waiter for seating them.

No corner is spared as the prime cut of tuna and salmon comes to their table. Iruka had been a little self conscious at first but after a sip of sake and Tenzou asking him for stories about Naruto, particular ones he can use as blackmail next time they’re on a mission together, Iruka finds himself relaxing and enjoying the meal and company.

They talk for hours about everything and anything -- from Naruto, to team seven and Iruka’s decision to be an Academy teacher. Iruka learns that Tenzou is called Yamato only for the duration of his current status as team seven’s captain, which may change given how Sakura is more immersed in her work as a medic, Sai moving on work with other jounins in the field and Naruto actively being trained for his tenure as the Hokage. Iruka learns that Tenzou’s endgame will be reassimilating into ANBU again, something that Tenzou speaks about with candid honesty given how Iruka knows about the red mark on his left arm.

They talk about other things too, village gossip, the party, Gai’s birthday and why Iruka did not want to attend the Godaime’s birthday in the first place until their bellies are full and they wash down the meal with a pot of tea, oblivious to the hard fall of rain outside. A comfortable silence falls upon them when their attention is interrupted by a brief flash of lightning, both of them turning to look out the window at the darkened skies as the rest of the setting sun disappears completely under a cloak of dark clouds, the evening coming in too early given the summer storm that decides to finally hit the village.

“If I may be so bold, I would like to say that I’m an idiot too for not noticing you sooner,” Tenzou says, his eyes remaining glued to the sheets of rainfall descending upon the sky.

The words draw Iruka’s gaze away from the window in surprise, his chin leaving its comfortable perch on his palm as he lowers his hand to the table. It makes Iruka’s stomach swoop inwards so suddenly, with the force and suddenness of an object being dropped from a significant height, his heart suddenly picking up its pace, thudding, faster and faster until it lies there, jackhammering under his ribcage.

Iruka is glad that he manages an intelligent reply of sorts. “O-Oh?” 

“You’re quite beautiful,” Tenzou murmurs, before he turns to look at Iruka, holding his gaze and looking at him in a way Iruka honestly doesn’t remember being looked at that way by anyone. There’s something warm in Tenzou’s gaze, something a little soft tugging around the edge of his lips, as he ducks and smiles at his empty teacup, that flash of teeth that Iruka finds so damn attractive shyly tucked away from the eyes of the world. “And I don’t mean that just physically. I can see just a little bit why Naruto is the man he is today. He always had the knack in seeing the best of those around us, hmm?”

Iruka knows he’s blushing to the tips of his toes. So he picks up his tea cup and grumbles the lamest response he can think of in the wake of something a little freakishly honest and real. “Honestly, Tenzou-san, you just weren’t interested, that is all.”

“Well,” Tenzou casually leans over as he drops his voice to a whisper, “now you have my complete attention.” 

And not for the first time, Iruka flushes to the roots of his hair, speechless in the wake of that sentence, watching mutely as Tenzou stands and walks over to the cash register to pay for their meal.

*

It’s a little unnecessary but Tenzou plays the role of a gentleman all the way to the entrance of Iruka’s apartment building, his hand holding up a wooden umbrella that he had grown from his palm to shield them from the rain. Once Iruka stands safely under the roof of the building entrance, Tenzou remains standing the rain, under the shade of the umbrella, his lips tugged up in a small, almost hidden smile, tucked under the shadow cast over his face.

“I’ll see you around, Iruka,” Tenzou says, casual in its delivery, but heavy with the weight of a promise that Iruka knows, from experience, is honestly nothing.

Trust the statistics. Not the person.

“Good night, Tenzou-san,” Iruka murmurs, as he nods politely, watching that smile pull broader, Tenzou’s teeth flashing briefly, before he bites his lower lip, and turns to walk away.

Iruka watches him disappear down the street and the torrential fall of rain, thinking, ah, well, that is that.

It had been good while it lasted.

*

Iruka doesn’t see Tenzou again, just as he expected.

It’s hard to be disappointed when there’s really nothing to be disappointed about. But everytime he sees the gleam of a happuri, or someone with long hair, Iruka does a double take. He should have known better than to think it would go unnoticed by his two best friends.

Honestly. He is beginning to question his emotional investment on Izumo and Kotetsu, as he is one day, almost a month later, dragged out of the mission room towards the izakaya a street away from the administration building for no doubt, a session of hounding. 

Iruka goes with it like he’s nothing but a bag of vegetables between his two friends.

*

“So, did you score with Yamato or not? Honestly, our gate guard roster this month has been -- ugh.” Kotetsu stabs his bowl of rice a little viciously, shoveling food into his mouth and then attempting to continue his train of complaint with a mouthful. “I mean, we’ve been wanting to ask you for weeks --”

“Close your mouth and swallow, you animal!” Iruka gripes, slapping the back of Kotetsu’s hand with the back of his chopsticks.

“Ow -- hey!”

“Did you though? I mean, we were so drunk that we woke up in Aoba’s garden the next day. Apparently, after the bar, the after party continued there, so. By the time we woke up, it was rather late and we had to report to the gates,” Izumo sighs, shaking his head.

“I did go home with him, yes,” Iruka admits and rolls his eyes when Izumo and Kotetsu gives each other a high five. “I also threw up in an alley. I missed his shoes, thank fuck.”

“And you still got laid?” Kotetsu sounds incredulous.

“Yes,” Iruka nods, the heat rising to his cheeks as he gets flashbacks to that particular night, how Tenzou had given it to him so good that he had been hoarse for the few days that followed. 

“Wow,” Izumo crows, looking impressed. “That’s respect.”

“Yeah, I’d be turned off if I had to watch my partner for the evening throw up a buffet. Ew,” Kotetsu shudders. 

“It was stinky,” Iruka grumbles, chuckling when his friends make disgusted noises. It doesn’t stop them from eating, though.

“Ugh, you disgusting creature,” Izumo huffs, as he takes a sip of his beer and shakes his head. “So, one and done?”

Iruka doesn’t answer, humming instead and turning his attention back to the meal before him. There’s really nothing much to be said because that is his playbook. He doesn’t go for seconds as a rule of thumb because there usually is no need for seconds. 

Except, as it turns out, fate really does enjoy mocking Iruka when it comes to people who've made a rather positive impression on him. The odds of Tenzou walking into the izakaya towards the take out counter and spotting Iruka had been so slim that it really is fate dangling one of the nicer partners Iruka has had in a while. And by nice, he means someone he genuinely doesn’t mind being in the company of.

“Oh shit,” Kotetsu mutters. “Incoming.” 

“Don’t worry about this, we got you,” Izumo mutters.

Iruka sits there, powerless as the massive steam-train-wreck just proceeds to happen in front of him. Tenzou approaches their table, expression polite, a little guarded, not as open as Iruka remembers from that night but 

“Good evening,” Tenzou greets, before turning his attention completely towards Iruka, his chin dipping down in greeting. “Iruka.”

Iruka opens his mouth but Izumo beats him to it, officially kicking in their secret safety net to ward off stubborn lovers that may potentially show interest in pursuing Iruka when they should remain confined to their once-and-done category.

It all unforlds like a horror scene playing out in a badly edited movie.

“You can’t sit with us!” Kotetsu says firmly, standing up suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor.

“Yeah!” Izumo chimes, standing up to. “You can’t. Can’t you see? How Iruka’s eyes are looking straight ahead, not all distracted by anything around him because he has no time for such a thing?”

Oh gods. It’s the show-them-Iruka-associates-with-crazy-individuals-and-they’ll-run-for-the-hills tactic. Good grief. The most extreme kind. 

Iruka opens his mouth to protest, meeting Tenzou’s eyes briefly, who is now looking at him questioningly, the open wonder if his friends are being serious all over his handsome face. Iruka notices how the long hair is gone, his hair now trimmed short in his more favored tapered cut.

“Iruka is steadfast, always looking towards the future and not the past. His eyes, they--” Kotetsu wiggles his fingers, gesturing an action of explosion. “-- they  _ sparkle  _ like marbles! Nobody can paint eyes like him.” 

Iruka blinks, wondering what the fuck as he stares at Kotetsu. Marbles. What?

“He is an artwork that cannot be replicated and that is why, shinobi-san, you can’t sit with us!” Izumo punctuates, nodding.

Iruka grabs Kotetsu by the wrist, his hand snapping over it to stop any more nonsense from coming out.

“So, that’s a no to tea tomorrow or ever, then?” Tenzou asks, the words coming out of him calm, collected, quite measured, his gaze turned towards Iruka who, in turn stares at him wide eyed, shock on his face.

Caught off-guard.

He had expected a casual hello, nothing more than social etiquette at most.

He had not expected Tenzou to ask him out to tea. That Tenzou, of all people would actually mean the I’ll-see-you-around.

Perhaps Iruka takes too long to respond. Perhaps it shows all over his face, his resistance to the technique his friends has used on his behalf to ward off weirdos and unwanted attention. Perhaps it’s the way his face drains of color, as he opens his mouth and stammers something garbled, unable to form words. Something that sounds stupidly like:

“That’s not-- I mean-- it’s not like that...”

It gets him an eyebrow quirk from Tenzou, a little amused, but also a touch too polite, guarded.

“You should have seen the look on your face!” Kotetsu suddenly exclaims, masking the crazed-look in his eye that gleamed like the freaking marbles he had been yapping about.

“We’re just kidding. You must sit with us,” Izumo says, as he plops back down on his chair and pushes the vacant seat beside Iruka out and open with his foot, inviting. “We’ll buy you one bowl of udon.”

“And maybe tell me what that was all about?” Tenzou asks, tilting his head towards Iruka. 

Iruka smiles, sitting himself down more comfortably as Tenzou joins their table. 

*

When they explain the story behind the show-them-Iruka-associates-with-crazy-individuals-and-they’ll-run-for-the-hills tactic, the importance of it to ward of individuals like Yuuna, Tenzou reacts by ducking his head, chuckling before dissolving into warm laughter that leaves Iruka’s stomach fluttering with a million butterflies. He sits through the dinner, watching Tenzou have a good time with two of his closest friends, his brothers in anything but blood (not that he’ll ever say that outloud to their faces), and not at all perturbed by their sense of humor, their directness and their silliness.

They are all nursing new bottles of ice cold beer, when Iruka turns to face Tenzou just as Tenzou casually loops an arm around the backrest of Iruka’s seat, leaning into his space to hold his gaze briefly, before he brings the beer bottle to his lips to take a sip.

“Well, Kotetsu isn’t wrong,” Tenzou murmurs, as the tip of his tongue brushes over his lower lip. “You do have eyes like marbles.”

Iruka flushes so dark that he doesn’t even notice the knowing, smug looks Izumo and Kotetsu exchanges.

*

By the end of the evening, they separate at the izakaya’s restaurant. Tenzou is the first to part ways, thanking them for their company before he tells Iruka that he’ll see him around and proceeds to walk down the street.

Iruka watches him go, sighing deeply before he turns to find his two friends standing there, hands on their hips, pointed looks on their face.

“No,” Iruka rolls his eyes. “No, let’s go.”

“Ask him out,” Kotetsu urges. 

“We know you’re interested. Just -- “

“Guys--” Iruka shakes his head.

“-- Just try. Once. Just this once. I’ve never seen you look at anyone with rapt interest that way in a long time, so just this once,  _ try _ . It’s been years. What have you got to lose?” Izumo spreads his arms, as if emphasizing his question before he drops them to slap on his thigh.

Iruka wants to say everything, except… well. It’s not like Izumo is wrong. 

“Yamato-san!” Kotetsu calls out, a good half a block between them. Yamato does hear him though and turns around at the sound of his code-name. “Free tomorrow for dinner?”

Because Yamato isn’t an animal like Iruka’s own uncouth friends, he responds in field shorthand like a civilized shinobi; yes, he signs.

Izumo shoves Iruka forward, Iruka’s feet almost tangling as he glares at both his friends for putting him on the spot. Iruka doesn’t signal, nor does he shout.

Instead, he walks over, and for the first time years, asks someone out to dinner. A little willingly.

Tenzou’s smiles, the one where he ducks and looks up at Iruka a little boyishly shy, incredibly charming, teeth and those incisors flashing briefly.

And Iruka thinks that may, this may not be too bad of an idea.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New universe in the works i.e. there is a sequel in the works.
> 
> MAN THESE TWO. WHAT A PAIR OF HORNDOGS! SERIOUSLY!

**Author's Note:**

> I am specially thanking @flashbastard over at the Iruka discord server. You know why :))
> 
> Iruka you silly goose. Who loves a hot Tenzou? Long haired Tenzou? Iruka! And me! 
> 
> Thoughts? Come say hi @ tumblr: pinkcatharsis. Or chat away over here!


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